What If I Turned Left?

Every morning, I leave Starbucks, put on my blinker and make a right turn toward work.

And every morning, a tiny part of me wants to make a left.

Left takes me toward JFK Airport. JFK has airplanes. Airplanes go to Bali.

You see where I’m going with this.

One Venti Iced Americano in the cup holder, one credit card in my wallet and approximately one questionable life decision later, I could be sitting in Seat 14A headed toward a place where nobody knows my name, nobody needs anything from me and I have absolutely no idea what day the garbage goes out. One-way ticket, please.

Of course, I make the right.

I always make the right.

Somewhere along that very familiar drive to work, life begins unfolding around me.

This morning I’m stuck in traffic and glance over at the woman in the lane next to me. She’s on the phone, screaming. Not talking loudly. Screaming.

Her face is tense. Her hands are flying. Whatever is happening on the other end of that phone is clearly not going well.

My first thought could easily be, Lady, it is way too early for this.

But then my mind does what my mind does.

Maybe she was up all night with a teething baby who cried until 4:00 a.m. Maybe she finally got the baby to sleep, crawled into bed for seventeen glorious minutes and then overslept. Maybe her husband just called to tell her they’re out of formula.

Maybe she isn’t angry at all.

Maybe she’s exhausted.

Maybe she’s scared.

Maybe today is simply the day that one more thing became one thing too many.

Traffic moves.

A man suddenly walks across the street in front of my Jeep without looking.

I hit the brakes.

Seriously?

And then again, my brain starts writing his story.

Maybe he was recently diagnosed with dementia. Maybe the neighborhood he has walked through for forty years suddenly doesn’t look quite as familiar. Maybe someone at home is terrified because he slipped out the front door and they don’t know where he is.

I don’t know.

That’s the point.

None of us knows.

Eventually I reach the railroad crossing. The gates are down, so I sit there with my Americano and watch the train pull into the station.

The doors open.

People pour out.

Hundreds of them move toward the parking lot in these strange rippled waves. Work bags over shoulders. Phones in hands. Heads down. One foot in front of the other.

They look tired.

Some look miserable.

And I wonder how many of them got up before sunrise, showered, packed lunches, fed dogs, woke kids, kissed spouses, caught trains, answered emails and did everything they were supposed to do today.

How many are worried about a parent?

A child? A marriage? A mortgage? A diagnosis?

How many are just plain tired?

And how many of them, somewhere deep inside, want to make a left too?

Maybe not to Bali.

Maybe their Bali is opening a bakery.

Writing a book.

Moving to the mountains.

Going back to school.

Quitting the job they have hated for fifteen years.

Traveling.

Starting over.

Or simply waking up one morning without an alarm clock and asking themselves, What do I want to do today?

We spend so much of our lives making the right turn.

And I don’t mean right as in direction.

I mean the right thing.

We go to work. We pay the bills. We take care of our families. We show up. We answer the phone. We make the appointments.

We sit in traffic.

We keep moving.

Right turn.

Right turn.

Right turn.

Maybe that is part of how my blog was born.

Somewhere between Starbucks and work, between railroad crossings and red lights, I started paying attention.

To people.

To stories.

To moments.

To the woman yelling in the car beside me and the man wandering across the street and the exhausted commuters rolling toward their cars like waves reaching the shore.

I started wondering about their stories.

And then I started wondering about mine.

Writing became my little left turn.

I didn’t have to quit my job, abandon my family and board a flight to Bali with nothing but a Venti Americano and a dream.

I could make the right turn toward work and still take a left somewhere along the way.

Maybe that’s what dreams really are. Not always an escape hatch from the life we’ve built.

Sometimes they’re the little roads we finally give ourselves permission to explore.

So tomorrow morning, I’ll probably leave Starbucks and make the right turn.

I’ll head toward work.

I’ll stop at the railroad tracks.

I’ll watch the people.

I’ll wonder about their stories.

And I’ll keep writing mine.

But one of these mornings?

I might just put on the other blinker.

JFK is only a left turn away.

I am beyond grateful to Da-Al for featuring this piece on her site and with her followers. Her work lights me up and at times cry like a baby. I am beyond thrilled to be noticed and offered this opportunity.

Please follow Da-Al at:

Welcome to Happiness Between Tales (and Tails)!
Beyond Amazing! ❤️❤️❤️

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Author: KikiFikar

Kiki Fikar is a native New Yorker who is passionate about taking the day to day life we all experience and sharing it in her tales from Suburbia. She will often be found at the gym, writing snippets each day for future story lines, listening to her two children create their lives, and building the perfect beachfront home and writing retreat in her mind.

46 thoughts on “What If I Turned Left?”

  1. Da-al is a cool blogger. i like her.

    i love this piece Kiki. i mean, there were times in my life i’d have loved to make that left. but that we learn to see the beauty in the lives that we have now – that’s such an underrated life hack. and that we can share it with each other here: even better! Mike

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  2. I have considered going left more than once, too! We never know what people go through, and I try to keep it in perspective, even though there are times when I shake my head because it seems likenonsense too.

    This week, watching my son raise his family and two young kids while juggling his job and responsibilities, I can only offer my advice and let the little stuff go; nobody cares that the toys are everywhere.

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  5. Very, very relatable. We all wander through life, doing what needs to be done, trying to be responsible. But I hope people follow your lead and take little detours once in a while. Everyone needs a little joy in life. Great post!

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  7. This brought back an interesting memory. During boot camp when I realized it was going to be very challenging, I visualized myself as a broker on the NY Stock exchange making bids and that got me through. Maybe that is why I like writing mystery novels.

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  8. Thank goodness you made that small left turn Kiki. Maybe one day soon you make a bigger one. I wonder about left and right turns all the time. Big and small ones. Maybe that’s why I loved your line: “JFK has airplanes. Airplanes go to Bali.” Ha ha, love it. You had me hooked with that one. Now I don’t know about Bali but there’s lots of places I could see me traveling or things I could imagine doing. And like you, I do find myself getting riled up by “people” but then thinking about their stories and hopefully offering them a bit of grace! Gotta keep dreaming.

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  10. I always reach for the better angels of my nature and assume that the person who cut me off on I95 is distracted because of a sick child or dying parent. When you reach a certain age, you develop muscles and stamina for the amount of baggage and strife life forces us to carry and endure. I imagine that half a lifetime ago, I was picnic on the road.

    Now, on the brighter side; I see “we” really struggles with those Bosox. How did you ever survive the drama? I’m guessing the Rays will put up a little more resistance. Good luck!! ⚾⚾⚾

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      3. The price we pay for loving a game and a team is knowing that it can break our hearts. That pitch-by-pitch mind-numbing intensity… I would trade it for anything, outcome notwithstanding. Sometimes I think the man who invented the game was a psychopath, but I’m damn glad he did it. Meanwhile, I’ll root for the pinstripes. First and foremost, I’m still a baseball fan, so I wanna see the Series that will draw the highest ratings, and that means a Series the includes the Yankees. ⚾⚾Good luck; I’ll be rooting for you.

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      4. Thank you my friend!

        That’s right – it’s the love of the game. I’ll write about it one day but my Dad was a die hard Mets fan. Oh man did he love his Mets. It was heartbreaking for him each year (except in 86) but he said he would never give up hope on baseball. He had my husband had such a rivalry going. I was born Mets and married Yankees.

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  11. Beautiful post, Karen. That left turn is always there just tempting us. But the right turn also offers us an opportunity for a different kind of tourism – of life itself – we just have to open our eyes and look around and pay attention more. You have great empathy and kindness towards the strangers all around you.

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  12. To me, the piece woke up with “my mind does what my mind does.” From the light and playful thoughts about Starbucks, the right turn, JFK and ever-beckoning Bali, your brain takes over and begins writing stories for the strangers around you, and the piece quietly darkens. Suddenly, the “right turn” is no longer just the road to work, but all those things we keep doing because we must. I liked how writing finally becomes your little left turn.

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    1. This gave me chills. I read one Maeve Binchy book and it has stayed with me all of these years later. You just stopped me dead in my tracks with that one. It called Tara Road. One of the best books I’ve ever read.

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      1. Ah! Yes a stirling novel. I guess being in USA it would resonate too. The book your post reminded me of, was The Lilac Bus. Lots of different characters who travel on the same bus every Friday, each chapter reveals their individual stories 😊

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  14. Amazing. Your ability to bring me into your world with your story telling is incredible. You can tell we had the same father 🙂 what came back was dad’s mantra, never judge until you’ve walked a mile in their moccasins. Thank you for sharing!

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    1. Daddy for the win! I always wished he could have read my blogs. I would tell him about them as I fed him ice cream but I’m not quite sure he knew who I was and why the ice cream girl was laughing so much.

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