They way you do the things you do.
Out on the lake, after the fireworks show, all of the boats with their regulation green and white headlight/taillight beacons turned the water's surface into a liquid freeway. From high atop the north shore, we watched them gliding in unison, a hundred mechanical bugs migrating west, as if hatched simultaneously from their pyrotechnic mothership.

Here and there, a few brave creatures breached the conformity, darting ahead to forge their own path in the quieting darkness. These were the ones that caught my eye, not so much by their motion as their recalcitrance, their innate desire to seek their own path and set their own pace. I closed my eyes and placed myself at the helm of the westernmost craft, my hands no longer on the porch railing but at the wheel, my bare foot plunging the accelerator to the floor.

We change our course in life with little to commend or affirm us, because who can ever know what may have awaited us behind Door #3?

Perhaps those anarchist boaters were brave. Perhaps they saw a better way across the dark chasm of Lake Chelan, and sought to experience it. And perhaps they simply drank too much beer on the 4th of July, and really needed to use the bathroom.