She had no idea where she was going. That was unusual. She was good at know where she was going.
She made reservations. Checked directions. Looked at reviews. Knew what time things opened and approximately how long it would take to get there. She wasn’t obsessive about it. At least she didn’t think she was. She just liked having a plan.
But on this particular Saturday morning, she had none.
She had driven about forty minutes out of town to visit a little shop someone had mentioned weeks earlier. It turned out to be closed. Normally that would have irritated her. Forty minutes there. Forty minutes back. Nothing accomplished. A wasted morning.
She sat in the parking lot for a moment and reached for her phone. She couldn’t find another store. Look for a restaurant. Search “things to do near me.” Turn the morning back into something productive.
Instead, she put the phone down. Across the road was a narrow two-lane highway she had never been on. She looked at it for a moment. Then she turned left. She had absolutely no idea where it went.
For the first few miles, she kept expecting herself to turn around. There was nothing particularly exciting to see. A few old houses. Fields. A church with a white steeple. A roadside stand selling peaches. She drove past it. Then thought about the peaches.
She turned around. An older man was sitting under a faded umbrella reading a newspaper. A handwritten sign leaned against the table.
That was the entire marketing strategy. She smiled. “Are they good?” He looked over the top of his glasses. “Nope. Been sitting out here all morning hoping somebody would take these terrible peaches off my hands.” She laughed. “Fair enough.” She bought a basket.
He told her they had been picked the day before and suggested she eat one before she got home because they were already ripe. So she did..
She stood beside her car eating a peach that was so juicy she needed three napkins and still ended up with juice running down her hand. It was wonderful.
She dove on with no destination, no itinerary and no reason. And somewhere along that little road, she noticed how strange that felt. For most of her life, she had been good at things that had a point. There was always something to accomplish. A degree to finish. A career to build. A house to manage. Children to raise. Money to save. People to care for. Problems to solve.
Even the things she did for herself often came with an invisible measure attached. Exercise had goals. Reading had lists. Travel had itineraries. Hobbies somehow became projects. She couldn’t remember anyone telling her to live that way. She just had. And she had been very good at it. Maybe too good.
A few miles later she saw a sign for a small lake. She turned again. There were picnic tables beneath the trees and a short trail along the water. She parked, carried her peaches to one of the tables and sat down. And then she did something almost embarrassingly difficult.
Nothing.
She didn’t take out her phone. She didn’t walk the trail so she could count the steps. She didn’t take a picture to send anyone. She didn’t even open a book that happened to be in her car. She sat.
A family was fishing from the bank. Two little boys were arguing over whose turn it was to hold the net. Somewhere behind her, someone was grilling something that smelled amazing. She ate another peach. There was absolutely nothing productive about any of it.
She began to wonder why that felt so unfamiliar. Maybe we don’t realize how many scorecards we carry because no one actually hands them to us. We create them ourselves.
Did I accomplish enough today?
Am I using my time well?
Am I getting better at this?
Was the trip worth it?
What do I have to show for the afternoon?
For years, those questions had helped her accomplish things she was proud of.
But sitting beside that little lake, she wondered if every part of life needed to be measured. What would happen if some things were allowed to be enjoyable simply because they were enjoyable? What would she try if she didn’t have to be good at it? Where would she go if the trip didn’t have to be worth it? What would she spend an afternoon doing if she didn’t need anything to show for it afterward?
She didn’t have answers. For once, she didn’t particularly want them. She stayed at the lake much longer than she’d intended, which made her laugh because, of course, she hadn’t intended anything.
On the drive home, the basket of peaches sat on the passenger seat. She thought about the closed shop that had supposedly ruined her morning. Had it been open, she would have gone inside, bought whatever she’d driven to buy, and gone home. Successful trip. Mission accomplished.
Instead, she had gotten lost. Bought peaches from a smart-aleck stranger. Sat beside a lake. Done absolutely nothing useful. And had one of the nicest Saturdays she could remember. She smiled.
Maybe not everything meaningful needs to become an accomplishment. Some things can simply become a memory.
When she got home, someone asked where she’d been. She started to explain and then stopped. “I’m not really sure,” she said. “Did you have fun?” She thought about the question. “I really did.” And for once, that was enough.
Later that evening, she noticed the basket of peaches sitting on the counter. She picked one up and smiled. There was nothing to check off. Nothing to improve. Nothing to prove. Just a really good peach from a road she almost hadn’t taken. And she found herself wondering…
What else might I try if I knew no one was keeping score?