Blog Reflection: Think about the process you personally use to accomplish something: eating breakfast, driving home, doing laundry, or making cookies. Write a defense of that process as the best, most logical approach. What are the implications of using this particular process?
When I drive the 70-odd miles to my home in Corvallis, I always take Highway 99. I-5 is the first option that pops up when I input my address into my navigation app—it's about 2 minutes shorter—but interstates are a blight on the earth. Even here, where they rarely expand beyond four lanes, the flat, straight, boring strips of asphalt studded with exits and truck stops never fail to strike a note of depression into my soul—or to almost lull me to sleep behind the wheel.
Highway 99, on the other hand, is a beautiful road in almost any condition. It cuts through farmland and orchards, through small towns (where the speed limit drops to 25, a minor and worthwhile annoyance.) And it never expands beyond the same two lanes—also an annoyance when I'm stuck behind a slow-moving car, but not a deal-breaker.
What's more, my route back home via 99 is actually simpler than taking the interstate. It involves fewer turns—I can count the number on my fingers—and I can almost drive it without navigation now.
This process means that I get home about 2 minutes later, the few times a year that I drive there. It means I see a little more beauty in my day. But beyond these aspects of the commute, the simple act of driving the same route every time means that there's a ritual associated with the trip. When I drive that route, I know I'm coming home— and in a way, both directions feel like coming home now. This familiarity has become an important part of the drive, and it means that this process is more than just an avoidance of the evil freeway—it's also seeking out the positive experience of driving on 99.
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