Hitching a Ride

There are certain rules in life that seem to span multiple generations, rules that all parents seem to teach their children. Rules like "Look both ways before you cross the street," "Always wear clean underwear in case you're in an accident," "Don't touch the hot stove," "Never take candy from a stranger; in fact, don't even talk to strangers," "Wash your hands after you use the restroom," and many, many more. I remember one in particular that Mom often told me that I passed along to my own children ... "Don't ever pick up a hitchhiker. Never ever." So when I picked up a gal walking along the road in Winter Park one year while the kids and I were on vacation, it gave me the opportunity to impart another old adage to my kids ... "Do as I say and not as I do." They've called me on that one many times over the years, as well they should have. And for the record, I don't make a habit of picking up hitchhikers ... I think I may have picked up two in my entire life.

I've always thought I'd like to try my hand, or my thumb as the case may be, at hitchhiking across the country ... just think of the people I could meet and the places I could see. I know it's not a practical or particularly rational thought, but sometimes I think about just packing a backpack, putting doggie saddlebags on Julie and Ollie, and hitting the pavement. When I look back over my life, I've never really had a grand adventure, and hitching a ride from total strangers out on the open road would certainly qualify as one I would think. Riding along with people I've never met, going from town to town, experiencing things I never have before, hearing and writing stories that have yet to be told ... sounds like a heck of a fun time to me.

When I think about it, perhaps what is most appealing to me about hitchhiking is the risk involved, the unknown that would accompany each transport, the anonymity on both sides ... I wouldn't know the driver and the driver wouldn't know me. Whomever stopped to pick me up wouldn't be doing so out of a sense of duty or obligation ... they wouldn't know me so they wouldn't feel those emotions. There would, however, inherently be an enormous amount of trust involved, again on both sides. The driver would have to trust that I wasn't going to steal their car and their money or hurt them in some way, and I would have to trust that the driver wouldn't take me somewhere and bash me in the head and steal my dogs and my backpack. There would be no concerns about relationship or friendship or love or disgust or disdain or disappointment because we would be strangers ... strangers together on the road for a bit of time. Now lest you worry that I'm planning to head outside and stick out my thumb tonight, don't ... it's too cold and the wiener dog would freeze to death. Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight.

The more I think about hitching a ride, the more it causes me to think how many times in my life I've been a hitchhiker. Anonymous. Shallow. A stranger. I trust for a short amount of time in order to get from one place to another. I don't invest in the long term. I ride along for a few miles and then I hop out and move on. I hitch a ride in the car of love or compassion or faith, but I don't do the driving. I guess in reality I've stuck out my thumb and hitched way more rides than I want to count. And I know that God has a lesson in this post for me, a lesson about being more than a hitchhiker ... a lesson about the time I spend with those around me, a lesson about the journey of life.