I just came home from a whirlwind excursion.

I drove to Madison, Wisconsin for a family event. I left Friday afternoon and drove back Saturday afternoon.

It’s about 150 miles one-way. It can be driven in 2 ½ hours if you don’t encounter construction or traffic, but, as that’s pretty unlikely, it usually takes closer to three hours.

Ah, I considered having a good stretch of time behind the wheel, behind the windshield. Just the word itself makes you feel protected in your moving bubble. Like an Arthurian knight, all will be well behind your windshield.

I rarely take on an uninterrupted stretch of highway driving these days.

I helped a friend move to a new home in Arkansas some years ago (I drove 12 hours straight through). For four consecutive summers, I drove to a retreat in upstate New York, and I went on a couple fabulous Canadian driving vacations. One took me through the Canadian Rockies and the other through the Laurentian range.

The longest road trip I took was when I helped another friend move from Chicago to Sonoma, California. She hired professional movers for hauling furniture. Our main mission was to bring her German Shepard, Jack, and her husband’s BMW out there.

Jack was full of anxiety and shed hair like crazy as he curled up in a sort of hammock we arranged in the back seat. We drove for four days — through the flat lands of Nebraska, following the tumbling tumbleweed of Wyoming and silently praying to ourselves that the wind tunnel created to make a path through the Sierra Nevada didn’t suck us into some unknown vortex.

I have learned from past road trips that it’s good to bring some music. Being from a generation where that didn’t mean cueing up a mixed playlist from my smart phone, I had set aside a few CDs…But I forgot them.

Playing music and watching the world from my driver’s seat can provide a lot of pleasure. It’s represents quality ALONE TIME. I feel in control. Safe. Constantly entertained by the changing scenery all around me.

But I didn’t have my planned music with me. I decided to make friends with my car radio — just beneath my window to the world.

I was able to get a favorite FM station from Chicago until I caught sight of the Chrysler assembly plant in Belvidere, Illinois. At over 5 million square feet, I reflected how workers there might be extra careful not to leave their cellphone or lunch in their cars, not having the time to go to the parking lot and retrieve them.

At this point, I pushed my index finger against the radio’s SEARCH button. I came up with a rock station (WXRX), which I listened to until static replaced the recognizable guitar riffs.

Between Belvidere and Madison (where there are plenty of music choices catering to state university students), I caught signals for Country (WXXQ) out of Freeport and Classic Rock from Sauk City, Wisconsin (WIBA). I even got signals from a Hip-Hop station out of Genoa, Illinois (WYRB). Who knew?

I was tickled by how my SEARCH button would lead me to music I wouldn’t know to look for. (I quickly moved on when I locked in to a religious station’s signal, and there are plenty of them across this country.)

I got a strange idea in my head. What if everyone was equipped with a sort of SEARCH button? I contemplated how wonderful it would be, when not consciously directed to something, if you could press a button and pick up compatible signals (people or jobs or activities) to engage with until you were aware of a passion to move towards.

I hadn’t reached Janesville yet, and I was laughing out loud, delighted by my own thoughts.

I looked through my windshield. I thought about the trucks and SUVs that had passed me miles ago that I was passing now. I noticed that the block of clouds that had been hanging over the highway had moved on. I smiled at how signs for different gas brands were built extra high so from a distance drivers could see them and plot out which exit they should take.

Recognizing that life itself and my imagination can provide an endless stream of ideas sparked a sort of contentment.

Believing in your own capacity to never get bored is no small thing.