My introduction to California was complete when I spent almost an entire weekend on the freeways.  I know now what T. S. Eliot was talking about in one of his choruses from The Rock:

And now you live dispersed on ribbon roads,
And no man knows or cares who is his neighbor
Unless his neighbor makes too much disturbance,
But all dash to and fro in motor cars,
Familiar with the roads and settled nowhere.

Bumper to bumper, headlights glaring, nerves frayed, energy wasted, tempers flaring -- there we were, all weekend -- “dispersed on ribbon roads.”

It came to me that perhaps this is the best symbol for modern persons: ribbon roads. We spend most of our time in our cars.  We know the roads, but we aren’t settled anywhere.

Even those who have lived for years in one place may experience the same rootlessness -- constantly on the move, but not certain of direction.

The ancient psalmist provides good news:  “Commit your way to the Lord, trust in Him, and He will direct your path.”