I did have second thoughts that morning.

So many people had warned me of different things. The woman on the plane: “No rest stops.” The woman at the hotel counter: “You’ll be safer here.” Mom: “You need to make sure your insurance covers you… and that … [insert running list here].”

And everyone I told about my trip asked, “Are you going alone?”

Yes.

Although I had asked a few friends to consider coming with me and although a dear friend would join me in a week to explore San Francisco, I was driving nearly 2,000 miles by myself.

The idea didn’t bother me at all. But what if I’d been wrong? What if I’d need someone else to drive a shift? What if I couldn’t make it to Seattle? Would Scott be disappointed if I missed his birthday? Will I feel guilty? Should I just try to figure out a way to stay here, at this lovely inn, for the week?

WHY ISN’T THIS RESTFUL!? Man, maybe I should have just spent a couple weeks vegging out in front of Mom and Dad’s TV.

This was all being worked out in my journal. I turned the page.

But this is my launching pad.

A few times I said aloud to the coast: Shut up.
You’re too beautiful. You’re showing off.

Ok, so maybe I could have budgeted more carefully to know exactly what I could afford. But I’ve been working and saving. I hardly spend money in real life.

And this is important to me.
So. I’ll sleep at a lodge if I need to.
And I will enjoy my king-sized bed in the ambience of ocean waves. Damn straight.

And, Scott, I might not make it to Seattle. If not, I’m sorry.

But this trip is for me.

A journey, not a destination.

This was a vital piece for me to remember. I thought about how much I’d been talking this trip up, my hopes for it and its role in my life.

I have a tendency to do this. Like the work I’d left. I had romanticized it from day one. I had over-identified with it, let it dictate so much about my personality. I don’t want to trivialize it, either. True, I romanticized it. But that’s only because I believed in the work I was a part of. So the truth about this job is somewhere between romanticized and trivialized. The golden mean.

And this trip I wanted to take wouldn’t be some epic quest that would lead me to a new self. It was just a trip. A journey.

It would be a journey toward hope and health, even if those themes weren’t magically perfected in 11 days.

And I did love getting to be on that journey.