FOR ALMOST A CENTURY, new housing developments have been designed with a minimum of through streets and a maximum of cul-de-sacs. It’s what the market wants. A little quiet corner of the world. A retreat from the grind. With a tall wall and a locked gate. A bit of Heaven — if your idea of Heaven is something like this Talking Heads lyric:

Heaven, heaven is a place where nothing, nothing ever happens

To me, cul-de-sacs are about reducing the size of your life by reducing your exposure to it. After all, cul-de-sac is French for dead end. Or, more literally, bottom of the bag.

Even though my house was on a through street (with speed bumps, of course, to discourage through traffic), I had unintentionally created my own bottom of the bag by shrinking my life down to a world small enough to fit in my numb, depressed mind. My little routine, in my little world. I thought it was what I wanted.

But as retirement and the end of my career loomed, I was forced to evaluate my life. Retirement meant change, right? So, what and how many things did I want to change? Change it what way? Change it how much?

“I… I… I don’t want to be here,” my inner soul said. “Here” being in a house, stuck in one place.

“And I want more than… than… this.” (Gesturing vaguely at myself and the pathetic energy field I emitted.) “I want to be more.”

So here I am, more than nine years on the road, running from the literal and metaphorical bottom of the bag. My world and life are bigger, and I hope they keep growing until I reach that final dead end.