I recently conquered a lifelong fear of mine—well, a fear I've had at least as long as I've had a driver's license—and that was driving myself into the ever-intimidating city of Boston. I scored tickets to a concert at Fenway Park, but my initial excitement was quickly replaced by crippling anxiety over making the drive. For weeks, I'd start to get excited for the concert only to have it replaced by a pit in my stomach as I thought about the twists and turns of Boston streets. My brain even tossed in a few stressful driving dreams to top it all off, but the day finally arrived, so I put on my bravest face, loaded up the GPS, and made the trek.

I have to say, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Did I take the same wrong turn several times in a row? Yes, yes I did. Did I accidentally break a couple of traffic laws? Indeed I did. Did I break a few on purpose? Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. However, I found my parking destination, walked my way to Fenway Park, and it all wasn't as scary or as bad as I thought it would be.

The concert was so fun; I enjoyed it, and I was glad I pushed through my nerves to attend. On the walk back to my car, that little ping of anxiety returned, but I felt more confident leaving the city than I did driving into it. Still, as soon as I crossed the state line back into New Hampshire, I found myself relaxing my shoulders and lessening my grip on the steering wheel. Once I made it past the big rest area located in the southern part of the state and I was beyond all of the traffic, beyond all of the street lights, and amongst the dark highway that is most of I-93, I felt my nervous system return to normal.

I don't think about it often, but at that moment I realized I hadn't been below Franconia Notch in years. I've gone west towards Vermont and east towards Maine, but mostly have stayed north and rural. So as I made it further north from Boston and passed another row of dark pine trees and deer eyes reflecting back at me, I had the thought that I am so lucky I don't have to make that drive every weekend to be in a place where I can breathe and unwind, but I can understand why people do.

Don't get me wrong, Boston is great; there are tons of restaurants, Fenway Park is basically hallowed ground, and there is just always something to do any time, day or night. But I'm a North Country girl through and through; nothing compares to the solitude, the peace, the fresh air, and the slower pace of what I've always known. I understand why people are willing to make that multi-hour drive north each weekend to find the feelings of comfort I've always known as my home. We might not have a bunch of restaurants, we might not have Fenway Park, and there is next to nothing open past 10 p.m, but I think what we do have can't be recreated; the ability to breathe and relax exists simply because of what this place is, and that is truly unique to this area and it's such a privilege to experience that every single day.

Paige O. Roberts has a degree in Creative Writing from Southern New Hampshire University. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Henniker Review, Sidereal Magazine, Rejection Letters, and Cypress. She has been nominated for a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize. She lives in northern New Hampshire, where she owns and operates a pet boutique called Tailswag.