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what i didn't do in nashville.

i recently drove to nashville, tennessee. and back. that’s a total of 1,879 miles. 1,879 miles. one thousand eight hundred seventy nine miles. i like saying it out loud. sounds impressive. even though it's just... not. i didn’t do a damn thing. i sat there with my hands at ten & two. i put my foot on the gas pedal and, zoom. off and runnin’ for ten days of...what? well, let’s see: i slept in five cities, and visited seventeen truck-stops. i drank three weeks worth of diet mountain dew (i realize what amounts to a weekly ration of dew is entirely subjective. use your imagination). i ate four boxes of animal crackers, a bag of cheese-itz, and eleven apples. i listened to the “king of africa” remix by douster six-hundred forty-nine times. i took approximately three phone calls, saw seventeen people i know, and hugged each of them at least twice. i was licked by six dogs... and i bought one t-shirt (it's got a cowboy on it.) but of all the things i did along the way to and fro, it's what i didn't do that was for me, in fact, revolutionary: i didn’t get anything done. there's a hell of a fine line between getting it done, and just plain old doing. and lately i've gotten pretty tired of merely checking things off my list.

so if you ask me about what i did in nashville, i’ll have only this to say:

i did exactly what i set out to do - not a damn thing.

...and it was worth every last mile.

*numbers are approximations only. most are accurate. some are...not.

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