Thanks to the Interstate Highway System, it is now possible to

Charles Kuralt, the great American journalist and storyteller, once remarked with irony and longing: “Thanks to the Interstate Highway System, it is now possible to travel across the country from coast to coast without seeing anything.” At first, the words seem humorous, but beneath them lies a lament for what is lost when speed and efficiency replace wonder and discovery. Kuralt, who spent his life wandering the back roads of America, reminds us that to move swiftly across the land may be practical, but it blinds us to the heart of the journey—the people, places, and stories that make life rich.

The Interstate Highway System, built in the mid-20th century, was a marvel of engineering and progress. It united the nation with ribbons of pavement, making travel easier, commerce faster, and defense more secure. Yet as Kuralt saw, this very achievement created a paradox: travelers could now pass through the land without truly encountering it. Small towns, local diners, winding country roads, and faces of ordinary people were bypassed for the smooth monotony of endless asphalt. Efficiency triumphed, but intimacy with the land was lost.

Kuralt’s warning speaks to more than roads—it speaks to the human soul. To seek only the straight and fast path in life is to risk missing its meaning. Life’s beauty often dwells not on the main highway, but on the detour, the side street, the unexpected stop. The anything we fail to see is not nothing—it is everything: the quilt of human stories, the landscapes of quiet beauty, the encounters that leave lasting marks on our hearts.

History gives us examples of this truth. When Alexis de Tocqueville traveled America in the 1830s, he did not confine himself to the great cities or straight paths of commerce. He journeyed into towns, farms, and communities, and from these seemingly small observations he drew profound insights about democracy and the character of a people. He “saw” America not by rushing across it, but by stopping to listen, to watch, to learn. His wisdom endures because he did not take the highway of haste but the byroads of attention.

Even in modern times, many who follow only the swiftest path through life find themselves empty. They reach their destinations quickly, yet without memories of what lay between. But those who slow down, who take time to wander, discover treasures. A roadside conversation, a hidden church, an ancient tree—these are the jewels missed by those who see only pavement and signs. Kuralt, with his love for the back roads, urges us to reclaim the art of seeing.

The lesson is clear: do not let the pursuit of speed rob you of the richness of life. Roads of efficiency will take you far, but they may leave your soul hungry. Instead, learn to turn aside, to pause, to wander. Seek the hidden corners, the unexpected people, the overlooked beauty. For it is in these moments that life becomes not a blur, but a tapestry of meaning.

Practically, this means choosing sometimes to leave the highway. On a journey, take the scenic road. In life, resist the urge to rush through seasons—pause to savor them. Ask questions of strangers, listen to the stories of the forgotten, notice the details that others pass by. Let your journey, whether across the land or across the years, be not only about arriving, but about truly seeing.

Thus, Charles Kuralt’s ironic words ring with ancient truth: thanks to progress, it is possible to go far and see nothing. But the wise will refuse this blindness. They will choose to see, to savor, and to cherish. For the greatest journeys are not measured in miles, but in the depth of what the eyes and heart behold along the way.