I’d sort of given up on my little trip.
It had faded like so many dreams do. But some good friends asked me about it and reminded me how much it had meant to me.
Ok, so maybe I won’t drive. I’ll do a short version. I booked a flight to San Francisco for 11 days of adventure. I wasn’t sure where I’d stay yet, but I figured I could get around with public transportation and I could find a place to stay that would allow me space to write and think—the things I wanted from my mini-sabbatical.
My friend Christina was coming out for a few days on the tail end of my trip, so we could really see the city. I’d have the first week to introspect.
But as I was talking to a friend who has spent a lot of time in San Francisco, she thought it might be a lonely city to spend a week in not knowing anyone. I remembered how much I wanted to drive the coast, hike in redwoods, explore.
Yes! I rented a car for a week and made plans to drive up to Seattle and back. The route was flexible. The distance each day was flexible. I could go my own pace. I could stop and take a lot of pictures. In short, I was going to do the dream.