The main thing was getting home. The few days away from my usual schedule had come to an end and the road leading back to my everyday life was a-callin’. This wasn’t the first time someone told me I HAD to stop in on this little place the next time a road trip led me this way. A hot coffee and fresh chocolate croissant ALWAYS sounds good day or night so this time it was less of an, “IF I have time” thing and more of an intention to detour.

I must say, the coffee was as good as they’d promised. Locals were enjoying a late breakfast over gossip about so and so. Others stopped in for their orders of freshly baked loaves—solid, seeded, organic-ingredient looking loaves. The restroom had 1940’s era memorabilia of the Queen and her handsome husband. Quite nice, squeaky clean and tastefully done. And then there was the bakery’s exterior. Turns out it was even less of a “non-descript hole in the wall” than had been described and I would have gone past if not for Siri.

But soon on the highway again with 200 miles until home the concept of “detour” kept turning around in my head. So many life defining experiences seem to unfold as the result of a detour; a change of direction, a cautionary sign, a closed road. While on our way to something else, one small change of our pre-determined plans, one slight turn sets us onto a path we may not have chosen but was meant to be.

Sometimes I choose the detour. Sometimes it chooses me.

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