It only took me two tries to undo the rental car’s parking brake at 5:05 AM—an early morning triumph.

I rolled the vehicle down the steep, dizzying hills of Pittsburgh toward the drive-thru. Even though it’s been the same order forever, the words wouldn’t quite arrange themselves.

A gentle voice guided me forward.

At the window, she smiled—dewy, bright, seemingly untouched by the hour. My focus narrowed on the fingernails wrapped around the much-needed sustenance. I complimented them, and she shared her plans for a nail appointment after work—a birthday treat. Ah, that explained the sense of familiarity. My world is filled with Geminis—quick-minded, lively, ruled by the same planet as I: Mercury.

So began my second four-hour trek of the week, with two more to go. The destination: family, recently touched by illness. Midweek, grief visited—a dear friend lost their partner, suddenly, unexpectedly.

This missive could have been consumed by loss, aging, and the erosion of everything familiar.

Yet I kept finding myself in rooms filled with teens and twenty-somethings, enthusiastically sharing how YouTube taught them various skills, including coding and trumpet playing. They showed me journals filled with intricate sketches of imagined worlds and built sleek, practical tools with 3D printers. Their universe—a beautiful collision of innovation and tradition—was far more informed than mine at their age.

And even when conversations veered toward heavier topics—the billionaire feuds, the weight of U.S. debt, the struggle for affordable housing—I felt something surprising.

Hope.

At one point, sitting in the backseat, I marveled at how they—not I—were leading the way. It reminded me of my mother in that same position, how she met this transition with resistance, uncertain whether the next generation would truly rise. (Or maybe, she only doubted me.)

On my second-to-last journey, the sunrise over Ohio’s farmland burned hazy and orange—a breathtaking sight, later revealed to be the remnants of Canadian wildfires. A legacy we've left—one the youngest can't deny.

Yet I remain optimistic.

From my observations, these wise wee are ready. They understand politics, inclusivity, environmental impacts, and the nuances of the world in ways we never did. They embrace Summer Fridays and are unwilling to accept a work-life balance skewed toward corporate greed. They don’t question differences, judge hardships, or ask why someone isn’t working or loving in a way that fits outdated norms. 

My final trek took me back to my young Gemini acquaintance—this time, with the bonus of a free donut for National Donut Day. At the window, her nails now emerald green—the heart chakra color. A small act of self-care, which I applauded. She told me about her birthday, shared a smile, and sent me off with much-needed sustenance.

As I entered the Turnpike, I tuned into a podcast—yet another voice trying to make sense of this world.

The passing of the torch—it isn’t something distant or theoretical. It’s happening in front of me.

Yet it doesn’t feel like ending.

More an auspicious beginning