Through Painted Deserts

I started this book by Donald Miller about 2 months ago but got too busy to read it, so I thought I'd pick it up again before I go on my own short road-trip in two weeks. Every once in awhile I find a little paragraph in there that totally describes what I'm feeling:

"It occurs to me, as it sometimes does, that this day is over and will never be lived again, that we are only the sum of days, and when those are spent, we will not come back to this place, to this time, to these people and these colors, and I wonder whether to be sad about this or to be happy..."

"It's interesting how you sometimes have to leave home before you can ask difficult questions, how the questions never come up in the room you grew up in, in the town in which you were born. It's funny how you can't ask difficult questions in a familiar place, how you have to stand back a few feet and see things in a new way before you realize nothing that is happening to you is normal."