Recently, my car hit 100,000 miles.
It’s a 2020—which means that number carries some weight. Those miles weren’t quick errands or short commutes. They were earned the long way.
That odometer rolled over after Alaska and back. Route 66. Back and forth across the country more times than I can count. Up and down the East Coast. The Florida Keys. Highways, backroads, rest stops, mountain passes, oceans on both sides of the windshield.
Every one of those trips had a destination.
But none of them were really about the destination.
They were about the roadside attractions you don’t plan for. The conversations that only happen when you’ve been driving for hours. The quiet stretches where your mind wanders and solves things you didn’t even know needed solving. The moments you’d miss entirely if you were only focused on “getting there.”
That’s what 100,000 miles really represents to me—not arrival, but living in motion.
Lately, I think about time more than I used to. Maybe that comes with crossing the 50 threshold. Maybe it’s just awareness sharpening with age. Death isn’t a morbid thought for me—but it is a frequent one. Not in a fearful way. In a reckoning way.
When I saw that milestone click over, I caught myself wondering:
Have I hit my own milestone mileage yet?
And if I have—what then?
If I haven’t—how much road do I really have left?
Here’s the thing, though. Cars don’t know where they’re going. We do.
Mileage alone doesn’t tell you whether the trip was worth it. What matters is how those miles were driven. Were you rushing? Coasting? Taking unnecessary detours—or necessary ones? Were you awake to what was happening along the way?
The irony is that the older I get, the less obsessed I am with “making it.”
And the more committed I am to not missing it.
There is still so much to see. So much to do. So many conversations I haven’t had yet. Places I haven’t pulled over for. Roads I haven’t turned down because they didn’t look efficient enough.
If time really is the currency we’re spending—then I don’t want to burn it all chasing destinations while ignoring the drive.
Maybe the question isn’t how much time do I have left?
Maybe it’s how present am I for the miles I’m still driving?
Because if I’ve learned anything from that odometer rolling over, it’s this:
The road doesn’t end because you’ve logged a lot of miles.
It ends when you stop paying attention.
And I’m not done driving yet.
