I prefer the scenic route

The street is lined with trees and bushes turning red — it’s the middle of fall in my suburban hometown of Columbia, Maryland.

My dad asks the familiar question from behind the wheel, “Want to go on 95, Soph, or the scenic route?”

“The scenic route!” I blurt out.  

He turns the right turn signal on, checks his mirrors, and we are off down Route 175. 

I should clarify, though. 

No, the scenic route isn’t necessarily what you’re imagining — curvy farm roads with miles of grass and the sun setting in the distance. 

It really just means not Interstate 95. It’s a two-lane road, with many stoplights, strip malls and neighborhoods tucked away on side streets. 

But I love it. I’ve always been drawn to understanding how places connect. 

This route lets me see everything in between. We pass Costco and Trader Joe’s — where I grew up going every Sunday with my dad — and the Lake Kittamaqundi walking path, where we go on family walks. Beyond the familiar landmarks, I notice how roads, neighborhoods and my town  connect together. 

I-95 may be the most efficient way home, with a higher speed limit and no stoplights. There, I’m focused on getting home as fast as I can, passing slow cars and deciding which lane I can get ahead in. 

The back roads let me notice. I’m less caught up in the quick pace that comes with highway driving. 

Driving in the car is the one place I’m not doing anything else — it’s my time to take a breath and relax.

Most of the time, my attention is divided between conversations with friends, reading articles about politics and world events, and whatever school assignment I’m staying up late to finish. 

I thrive on being busy, and I often convince myself that there’s always something else I should be doing. There’s always another task to check off my list. 

A drive breaks that cycle. The car is one of the few places where productivity isn’t required. The only thing to accomplish is arriving safely at my destination. 

When I hop in the car and buckle my seatbelt, I can just focus on what is happening in the car and around me. I can pay attention to the road, the conversation and the familiar places passing outside the window.

This route, specifically to Costco and Trader Joe’s, is one I’ve taken with my dad since I was strapped in a booster in the back seat of our 1996 Toyota Corolla. 

I’ve sat in every seat of the car for this route. I’ve gone from the back seat to the passenger seat, switching the radio to channel 93.1, our local country music station and finally to the driver’s seat, as I practiced to get my driver’s license.

Along the way, I’ve picked up on my dad’s driving habits. His habit of checking over his shoulder, his aversion to using Waze or Google Maps and his quiet love of navigating entirely by memory. 

After years of taking this route, it never feels entirely repetitive. Returning home only periodically, on college breaks, what began as a Sunday morning ritual has evolved into how I view and understand the constantly changing world around me. 

The routine is no longer just about chatting with my dad from the passenger seat. Now, from the driver’s seat, I observe how my perspective has shifted through college and my time abroad, while the familiar stretch of Route 175 remains constant. 

When I feel unsure of my destination in life, I’ll remember these drives. 

As I continue to experience new places and cities, the roads of Columbia will always be my blueprint. I will do my head checks like my dad, and fall victim to the few extra minutes to take the backroads. 

I’m not sure exactly where my future will take me, but I know I want to move through it the way I learned to move through Columbia: making time for the people beside me, taking a moment to recognize my surroundings and allowing my brain to rest for a bit.  

Getting somewhere isn’t always about taking the fastest, most efficient path. 

I’ll always prefer the scenic route.