Take the Backroads Home

Mitch Arnold • August 27, 2024

There are 438 miles between Scottsbluff, NE and my house, and that number doesn’t change whether you take the interstate or a much more rural route on two-lane highways. My navigation system also told me that I would add approximately 47 minutes to my trip, if I stayed off the interstate, so I had a choice to make.


Like most, I find rural travel much less stressful than interstate driving. Additionally, I knew that we would enjoy some beautiful scenery if we took the backroads home. Still, facing approximately seven hours behind the wheel on a Sunday, especially after not sleeping particularly well on Friday and Saturday, was daunting, and it was tempting to shorten the trip by sticking to the interstate.


We often miss out on life’s simple pleasures, when we rush from one point to another. We speed through meal preparation to minimize our time in the kitchen, costing ourselves a chance to enjoy healthy creative cuisine. We rush through conversations with family and friends, prioritizing function over depth. We aimlessly scroll through our phones, forsaking the opportunity for quiet thought.


When we subjugate where we’re at and what’s around us for the expediency of what’s next, we introduce unnecessary stress into our lives. That stress not only has harmful physical effects, it also blinds us to opportunities to savor the moment. Now in my mid-50s, I am much more aware of how the small choices I make in life affect the stress that I feel in life and how that affects those around me. Plus, I want to take a little extra time to savor life’s fleeting moments.


Over the years, I’ve learned that time will pass, regardless of our efforts to control it. It’s up to us to use that time in a way that leaves us fulfilled and allows us to be at our best. To that point, it had been 13 years since I had been on those backroads. A little quick math told me that I was 41 back then, and if I wait another 13 years, I’ll be 67 before I touched Highway 2 in Nebraska’s Panhandle.


Conversely, it’s hard to even imagine the number of hours I have spent driving on the interstate. In fact, I’ve spent more than 40 hours on interstates on three separate trips out west in just the past two months. While I’m thankful that I can cover 500 or more miles in just one day of driving, it seemed like it was time to actually enjoy some of those hours, so I steered onto Highway 26 and headed east to meet up with Highway 2. Had I chosen the interstate, I would have been surrounded by other vehicles for most of the trip. On this trip, however, there were times that I went 15 to 20 minutes without seeing another car. Rather than speeding down the interstate with white knuckles, while grumbling about orange construction cones and slow drivers in the fast lane, I felt like I was sitting in my recliner enjoying the scenery around me.


Ironically, we left Scottsbluff in dense fog, so we didn’t see any of the amazing natural formations just east of town, and then it rained. In fact, it rained for much of the first three hours of the trip, and then intermittently as we neared Omaha. Obviously, that wasn’t how I imagined the trip would go. However, even those less-than-ideal conditions didn’t rattle my inner peace.


Because the two-lane highway required less attention and evoked far less agitation than the interstate, I was able to enjoy deep conversations with my wife and adult son, who were along for the ride. Whereas I typically count down miles and minutes on a long interstate drive, I finished the trip relaxed and even took a short side trip through a neighborhood that my son had recently discovered and wanted to show me.


When the pace of your life seems harried, and you feel stress creeping in, step back for a minute and consider how you can improve all of that with a simple change or two. While it’s not always possible to choose the less stressful option, when it is, you should always take the backroads home.

Acceptance vs. Resistance

By Mitch Arnold • May 28, 2025
I bought my first and only motorcycle in 1993. It probably wasn’t a good idea then, and it’s a much worse idea now, but that didn’t stop me from recently considering doing it again. I was only 23 years old and still in my invincible era, when I strapped on my helmet and rode off on my own two wheels for the first time. Understandably, a few naysayers shook their heads and voiced their opinions about me endangering a body that was already fraught with challenges; however, like I did often back then, I ignored their concerns, and was able to ride with no problems. To me, the motorcycle represented freedom. I loved being able to enjoy the open road. I even rode it on a thousand-plus mile round-trip journey to Sturgis for the annual motorcycle rally. Getting kind of smug, I began to envision myself as a life-long biker, but two years later, life intervened. I was moving half-way across the country and getting married, so the motorcycle had to go. In fact, I sold it to pay for an engagement ring, promising myself that I would buy another one when I was established and had the finances to do so. Things didn’t work out the way that I had planned. Fatherhood and home ownership ate up my finances and time, and a second motorcycle kept getting pushed down the line of priorities. Meanwhile, despite my best efforts, my body aged more quickly than I had hoped it would. For most of my life, my resistance to my physical limitations has enabled me to get the most out of imperfect body. Tell me that I couldn’t do something, and you could bet that I was going to try, if only to prove to myself that I could. That resistance allowed me to overcome significant challenges and to succeed when success didn’t seem likely. Lately though, as my limitations have grown and my sense of self-preservation has become stronger, I’ve been trending toward acceptance. Both acceptance and resistance are natural responses to change, and change happens to all of us, especially as we age. While resistance can challenge the status quo, sparking innovation and resilience, acceptance often opens the door to growth, fostering a sense of peace and adaptability. That’s where I’m at now, at least most of the time. Still, when my uncle told me that he was selling his motorcycle, those thoughts of acceptance were elbowed aside by thoughts of resistance. I began to rationalize motorcycle ownership and to imagine myself in the seat again, handlebars in my grip. I could now afford the bike of my dreams, and even had a spot in the garage to park it. I didn’t plan to ride it to Sturgis again, but I thought it would be fun to ride it to the gym and on quiet Sunday mornings, like I used to do. When I researched parking a motorcycle in a handicapped space, I should have realized the insanity of the idea, but resistance tamped down logic. My wife, to her credit, let me play those scenarios out in my head and gave me room to dream, knowing that logic would eventually prevail. And, it did. One slip-up on a bike, and I would suddenly and dramatically limit what I could do with the rest of my life. Accepting that reality was important, and I’m happy that I was able to do it. Being able to accept who I am – all of it, even the limitations – has given me peace and perspective. It’s not always easy to accept limitations and new realities, but it’s crucial if we want to live a life without regret, and I’m finally there.

Live – Love – Repeat

By Mitch Arnold • April 6, 2025
I lost a close friend to cancer last month, and though sadness will always linger, it’s overshadowed by the gratitude I have for his friendship. Yes, his early death seemed unfair, unusually cruel and senseless, but his approach to life, especially during the dire situation of his last months, was nothing short of inspiring. Jamie was only 47, which is about eight years younger than me. He was a husband and father of three young girls who have yet to reach high school. He was also an integral part of a very close and loving family. Because he was one of those guys who made the world a better place everywhere he went, his network of friends was massive. Always a positive and cheerful person, he became even more so after his stage four cancer diagnosis. I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when he called me with that crushing news, on a Sunday afternoon, a little more than six months ago. While I was shocked, he was remarkably upbeat. He said that he felt good, and that he had a plan to attack the cancer. “I’ll be OK,” he reassured me, before hanging up. Still, I called him the next day. I had to make sure that he was really OK and to reassure myself that I was doing everything I could do as a friend. “Just pray,” he said, when I asked him if there was any way that I could help. He went on to tell me how he had begun to embrace religion, even before his diagnosis, and that a priest was helping him sort out his emotions and stay positive. Also on his side were all of the people – friends and family alike – who loved him. He said that so many people were praying for him and doing nice things for his family that it was almost overwhelming, but that he appreciated each and every one. He told me that he could feel the effects of all of those prayers, and that it was helping. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to recover, and cancer won, which left many of us sad and searching for answers. My initial emotions were heavy on the frustration and sadness of losing a friend way too early, but the more that I thought about Jamie, the less that I thought about his final battle. Eventually, I focused less on his death and more on his life. Jamie’s time with us was full of life and love, and cancer shined a huge spotlight on that. Even during that challenging time, he was the same cheerful person who was more interested in the people around him than he was of his own struggles. As we gathered to celebrate his life, there were smiles and laughter among the tears. Because he lived so fully and loved so deeply, we all had happy stories to tell and memories to embrace. Jamie showed me many things through our years of friendship. First and foremost, he showed me that it’s important to live every day to its fullest. No matter what he was doing, he was doing it with a smile and genuine enthusiasm. He seized every possible opportunity to enjoy life, even during those hard months at the end. Second, he showed me the power of love. He cared deeply about his friends and family, and he not only said it, but he showed it too. That love was reciprocated, especially when the end was near.  Jamie set a standard that we should all aspire to. If we can treat every day as a gift to be treasured, and seize every opportunity to show love to those around us, we can make the world around us a better place, just like Jamie did.
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