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FixerUpperMarriage.org/mindful Newsletter It was late one Saturday night when I left my wife’s house. We had been seeing each other for a while but were not yet engaged. We were falling in love and it was hard to leave her, so I stayed as long as I could. The hardest part about long-distance relationships is saying goodbye. So we reluctantly lingered on her front porch, and I finally faded back to my truck. I had at least a 3-hour drive home, so I put on a CD to listen to. The player was set to loop, and in the end, it would just automatically start over. She lived in a small town near the Virginia/ North Carolina state line. It was about 40 minutes through tiny two-lane country roads to the interstate. When I got there, I settled into the leather seats of my truck and activated the cruise control. I could hear large transfer trucks passing by and could see the endless headlights coming at me from the other lanes. It would be like this for hours as I barrelled down Interstate 85. Everything looked the same, except the numbers on the mile markers went down and the inevitable construction zones just outside of Charlotte, North Carolina. I think the road crews have been working in about the same spots for like 30 years. About an hour from home there was a Kangaroo gas station/truck stop. I had stopped there before to get gas or a sida to keep me awake. But tonight I just kept going. That sign was the last thing I saw. The next morning I woke up fully clothed in my bed. My suitcase was outside at the front door. To this day I can’t remember what happened for the last hour of that drive. Somehow I made it safely home, but I completely lost an hour of my life. I just missed whatever happened.