I have looked at this photo and depending on what bit of connecting memory or momentary inclination, it represents something different each time.
When I rummage through my trunk of dark thoughts as I often do, it seems a metaphor of the negative baggage of my life. That somehow, no matter what, there are no crossroads. Just one direction. Only one path to follow. Go directly to jail.
And then not moments later I search for somehting positive to pull from this picture. And I realize that my life has always been full of crossroads. Some looked like this. The fact that I often took a right or left did not deter me long. I found my way back to my highway and kept on truckin.
The common denominater upon which my life journey pivots is that I am still in the truck and not out of it. I have attempted to find new highways to follow. They just end up a loop or a dead end spur. I always come back to the road that heads into the sunset over a far sea I cannot envision just yet.
The key throughout all the good and bad roads I chose was that so far I have managed to survive traveling them despite myself. And even though no "true course" has ever revealed itself to me, I know that I am definitely on a road of my own making. No one else will ever experience this path in the same manner or sequence. I may meet and share my trail with others. I may swap tales and some emotional baggage. Ultimately I am on my own to find my own way. No one can do it for me.