Heading west is a very different sensation than heading east. I live in Waukegan, Illinois and to get to Iowa one must travel through some of the worst traffic on the earth. It takes almost the same amount of time to get from my home to the Western Suburbs of Chicago as it does to traverse the width of the state of Illinois. And it doesn’t matter what time of day it is, how bad the traffic is, what ridiculous road construction project they are currently working on, I always have the same sensation. Remember that scene in the Matrix where Neo is one of many cocoons and is being birthed into the real world. He comes up slowly, dazed out of the slippery, tenacious goo that has been incubating him and looks around. And then he becomes unplugged and all the mechanical gadgets hooked into his back come out one after the next, and he is free. That is how I feel a good amount of time when leaving the Chicagoland area. And by the time I get to mile marker 112 on Interstate 88, I can feel myself gliding and picking up speed. Not necessarily speed in the car, but a different kind of movement. The sky opens up wider, I can feel my head lifting to the sky and my eyes alight on the clouds and I breathe my first big breath, a belly breath. I can often imagine myself (and this might sound strange to some) as a larger spiritual being that is so tall that my arms extend for a mile on each side of me. I can feel my breastbone being pulled to heaven and my head tilts back facing the sun. My arms stretch out to the north and the south, brushing across the fields of golden corn. My eyes catch every hue and distinction of color found in the earth, the trees, the streams, the harvest and even the great Mississippi. I feel free.
And when I finally cross that bridge and see the sign that welcomes me home, “The people of Iowa welcome you,” I smile and feel thankful for this place.
As the old state slogan used to say: Iowa you make me smile. It’s true.