Road Trip

Yosemite, Grand Canyon, the Rocky Mountains, Shenandoah, Niagara Falls, and Yellowstone… jewels of the nation, in all their striking splendor and in all their breath-taking beauty, are places I will perhaps see someday with my own eyes. Places I could have seen, if I’d had more time or more money, or if I’d had company, or if I’d wanted to. But I didn’t.

It is a curious thing when an old, vague dream takes shape and unfolds into reality. The words “someday I’d like to do a road trip around the US and see all my friends”, meant almost as a joke, floated across the distance of the kitchen table and fell on serious ears. Unlike me, my friend believed this to be entirely plausible and even gave me a time frame. And while her timing (or mine?) was off, she proved right. The words had been released, the dream had seen the light of day and started to grow. Handing in my letter of resignation two and a half years later fed it even more and soon enough I had a return ticket to Portland, Oregon. A lot of people asked me how long I’d been planning my trip. To be honest, I don’t know that what I did could even be considered “planning”, because even though I’d been thinking about it for years, I had no grand ideas about what to do and see besides visiting friends. So, I wrote to these friends to find out where they live and to make sure they would be around when I was around, decided to buy a car when I got there and that was that. As it turned out, it took a feat of coordination on the go to make sure I kept my promise to my mother to not sleep in my car as well as not overstay my welcome here or show up too early there. I watched the blue dot slowly move to each pinned location.

Much like visiting a bookstore and leaving all the classics by all the big names on their shelves, I made my way in a great loop around the country, leaving the must-sees unseen. I was not unaware of them; I saw them just outside the frame of google maps leading me to the next stop. I just didn’t see them, passing right on by those exit signs, heading for more commonplace spaces. I have heard many and will likely hear many more “I can’t believe you were in ______ and didn’t see_______.” Apparently, I missed out on a lot of important cities and foods, too. 

Instead, I saw people. It is a curious thing when an old dream takes shape and unfolds into reality, when the friends I’d plotted on my map and written to and coordinated with materialize in their very own front door, or on the stage of their church, where I watch them from the back row, or in a parking lot, or a street parking spot, reserved for me. To them, I may appear like a cutout of a former life showing up in their present moment, strangely mixing worlds. To me, they give life to a random point on a map and fill it with all the detail I then have the privilege of getting to know for a few short days.

I get to walk through the same front door they are so used to, sit on their couch and drink coffee from their mugs, sit at or on their kitchen counters or help chop vegetables, open and close every single drawer before I find the one that contains what I’m looking for. I fall asleep on guest beds, air mattresses or couches to the same house noises they don’t even hear anymore and wake up to the same morning light they see every morning. I run in their neighborhoods or nearby green spaces, cool off on their front porches and then try to figure out how their shower works. I get to meet their spouses and hear their stories. I hold their babies, one of which is a mere six days old, and hug and read to or play with their children or grandchildren, and I pet their dogs. We reminisce about our shared history and wonder at how much time has passed. I have a similar catch-up conversation everywhere, each infused with the flavor and flair of the individual, sometimes spanning 10 years, sometimes just a few months. Thankfully also those conversations that go a little deeper, cover a little more ground, as we try to discover, “Who are you now?” and navigate the shifting ground of change and the passage of time. This was admittedly harder than I expected, realizing each time that many versions of ourselves have come and gone since last we saw each other. How do you update someone on the subtleties of years of internal rearranging and growth? 

Over and over, I am baffled by and grateful for the generosity of my hosts, who welcome me into their homes. But the lives of the people I visit don’t stop, so I go along for the ride. I attend a pre-school graduation, take part in family gatherings, go to several churches, celebrate a great-grandmother’s 90^th birthday, even go to a wedding. I meet so many friends, housemates, siblings and aunts, uncles, and cousins and all manner of distant relatives, I can’t possibly remember all their names. What feels like a million times, I retrace my route for whoever is asking and answer their questions. Yes, I bought the car. No, I didn’t go to the Grand Canyon. Well, some of the biggest differences are… I try not to show how repetitive this small talk has been, and, in all fairness, my friends seem to have wonderful friends and I am grateful to meet them and get to know them, even if only a very little. I am grateful to have a front row seat to my friends’ everyday ordinary existence. I soak in the pieces of it I can and savor the simple moments we share. 

For a few days I am wrapped up in the life of another, inhabiting their space, doing what they do, going where they go and then I am back in my car and gone, leaving piles of sheets and towels in my wake.

And then the road. It is a curious thing when an old road trip dream takes shape and unfolds into a very real, very long road. Sometimes a small, paved gray ribbon passing through vast expanses of nothing, sometimes twelve lane highways, sometimes gravel… always me, the car and the road. I had precisely one friend who told me that the road would be hard. Not driving for long hours, not the monotony, tiredness or boredom, but the inner road, the aloneness, the sheer mass of uninterrupted thought, the confrontation with what we find in ourselves, when we choose to look. In this space, many things coexisted. To my astonishment, anxiety was among the first emotions to make its presence known, raging and screaming and throwing my idyllic ideas of the open road for a loop. Closely followed by anxiety came a case of the crazies, looking forward at the trip’s half-baked itinerary and calling into question my sanity. After due acknowledgment, these subsided, making way for a whole host of both their upbeat, downtrodden and in between friends.

Being an introvert, I often felt relief wash over me as I shut the door, clicked my phone into place, and rolled out. This was the only place I was not a guest and sometimes that was a breath of fresh air. Other times, though, when goodbyes were harder than anticipated, tears would rush, stinging, to my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Other kinds of sadness accompanied me too, including the kind that comes from comparing, from grieving what I don't yet or may never have. Will I ever have a partner to share life and a home with? Will it ever be my children running to embrace me? Questions settled like stones on my chest, gathered into a knot in my throat. Jealousy and self-doubt came to talk to me. For hours, I talked back. In contrast, I sang my throat sore, belting out lyrics, giving center stage to delight for a change. Delight spent a lot of time with me in the car, pointing out beauty along the way all the while sharing space in my inner world with panic, dread, excitement, nervousness, joy. Apparently, it doesn't matter how light you pack, your emotional baggage travels with you anyway. These drives didn't just get me from A to B, they took me on a roller coaster ride of the human experience, often leaving me raw and ragged, but also thankful. While the road was long and rocky, I am glad of it and quite frankly proud to have stuck it out and let the journey unfold as it did.

And while a lot of the vague, old dream turned out hard, I am aware of the huge privilege that it was, and I will look back fondly on so much. All the beautiful hikes and walks, the time spend at lakes and rivers, in hammocks and on paddle boards, the sites I was shown here and there, countless delightful meals, shooting stars while waiting in vain to see the northern lights, all the ice creams and coffees, museums and concerts, and of course the people that share these memories.

Maybe next time I will see the must-sees. Or maybe I'll just be back to sit on your living room couch for a cup of coffee and a good conversation.