Driving in tandem is less risky than it once was. 

I remember a trip John and I took in the nineties when we were caring for five children as well as our own. We wanted to give them a day at the beach, and loaded up coolers with munchables, buckled the two youngest in car seats and headed for Santa Monica. The red lights of a squad car pulled one of us over, and we both stopped anxiously, wondering what law we had broken. It turns out one of our doors was ajar and he wanted to make sure we were safe. After a sigh of relief and a slam we thanked him and headed back up the entrance to the freeway. Yet because of the perils of merging we were soon separated, and without either cell phones or GPS wondered how we would end up on the same stretch of sand. Only one of us had food and the other had two toddlers with no diapers. 

But there was a miracle with our name on it that day and we found each other zooming along the 405. The kids waved madly through the windows and we veered off on the right exit toward the ocean. Strangely, the door was ajar again. Apparently our friend's son was curious about handles and liked pulling them. 

This week our daughter started her Ivy League chapter of life and we were recruited to help her move to Connecticut. This was her fourteenth move in seven years, and frankly it was hard to smile about another August schlepp. John drove the truck loaded with her belongings, she was behind the wheel of her aging green compact with the twins, and Ben kept me company in our van. I had no map, since they are from a bygone age and belong in museums. I did not even bother to ask the address or route. All I needed was to follow the green. And have my phone. 

Follow I did. Barely noticing the stream of informative signage about which state we were in, upcoming rest stops, tolls, and bridges, all I did was trail her. I did spy a sign that said to put down phones and keep your eyes on the road. My eyes were not on the road. They were on the green.

After a few hours I was getting antsy, and wondered how much longer it would be. Coincidentally, Ben opened his mouth and belted out one of his favorites. 

"Nothing is impossible, nothing is impossible, nothing is impossible..."

The words calmed me down, but I still wanted to know how much farther it was. Without taking my eyes off of the green I pushed the home button.

"Siri, how far is it to Yale?"

"Forty seven miles as the crow flies."

Well, I was neither a crow nor flying but it gave me something to gauge by. Ben was a friendly passenger, and distracted me by reciting the script from the Wizard of Oz. My courage was waning, as was my heart, so the images of a trembling lion and a rattling Tin man rejuvenated me. There were no yellow bricks but we got there eventually. 

Knowing where you are at any given moment is sometimes less valuable than keeping your eyes on where you want to be. On days when my life feels kinda foggy I try to focus on what I am sure of. 

Because nothing is impossible.