Washington to Texas - Day 1

Day 1

At about 8 o’clock in the morning I left Camas, Washington. In the rearview I witnessed my mom’s eyes pooled with tears. Caroline’s stunned face, a fake smile plastered on like a mask. A relatable feeling of surrealness washed over me as I geared up to leave the Pacific Northwest, the only home I ever knew. I looked over at my Monstera plant, buckled into my passenger seat. Bandit, sporting a red bandana to earn the name, would be my shotgun rider for the next 2,040 miles to Austin. I could feel my shoulders tense up as I prepared to make my dreams a reality. Trying on a new identity as a minimalist with my entire life packed into a white Honda Civic named Pearl.

I pulled nose out of the driveway and said goodbye to Nanas house. I thanked it. For the safety it provided me to heal. A space where I found the ability to dream again. I thanked it for proving peace was real, not a fable only others know. For the warmth of joy, laughter, and humbling Scrabble games.

Homemade strawberry jam on toast and chickens laying eggs in the backyard. Art covered her walls. A valuable collection acting as the living display of what consistency can earn you. Shortly after her husband’s tragic death at 55, she had to find a way to go on. This moving meditation kept her anchored until the end.

As I merged onto the 205-bridge stretched across The Columbia River, a knot in my stomach started to form. What am I doing? Is there an elephant sitting on my chest? How can I feel this way if I’m so sure of my decision?

A heavy realization struck that I wouldn’t be able to drive 45 seconds to Aunt Kim’s and Uncle Jason’s house. Counting on the love of a black labradoodle called Bear Dog and home cooked meals that made your heart throb. I would miss our prayers, said around the table. Some days quietly, energetically or funnily. A ritual, calling us to be in the present moment together.

Not even an hour in, a call from my mom came in. I could hear the heartbreak in her voice. Living proof that duality exists, she was both terrified and happy for me. She shows her support the best she can. Both of us knew that I would never be the same again, a chapter was ending and another beginning.

I drove along the Columbia gorge, taking in the breathtaking sights like oxygen. The dense forests said a farewell, waving goodbye. I cruised, a steady 75 mph pace, twisting and turning through well paved roads. Remembering that where I was heading, it would be much flatter. Much hotter. And much more unknown. These western trees provided me comfort for 24 years. Trees I could lay under and find solace in their canopies. My heart ached too while I missed something I hadn’t fully left yet.

Soon enough I was trekking through my Papa’s hometown, Hepner, Oregon. Population 1,082. The only thought crossing my mind, “Damn, can you imagine this being all you have to do?”.

There were irrigation systems for farming, run down gas stations, a whole lot of land to explore, and not many humans to influence you. Suddenly I felt closer to my Papa and his parents too. Understanding more of who he is. I thought of my great Grandpa, called Coach.

He was widowed young and raising four kids working as a teacher. I was acting as a visitor, passing through a place that played a significant role in making my current adventure a reality.

The road kept on and so did I. Eventually I found myself in Idaho. The roads turned out to be less tolerable here. However, the speed limit bumped up to 80 mph, and that felt like a good trade off. Cars zoomed around me. I soon realized I needed to ‘get with the program’, Pearl kept up. Boise seemed like a good stopping point for dinner.

I parked somewhere near university campus. The architecture was impressive. People wore wide smiles, couples held hands, and a cute boy left a note on my car asking me out. Hipsters with mustaches, flat bill ball caps and random tattoos kept a cool demeanor as they sauntered the streets. Their style clear. The desire to fly under the radar while being just different enough for everyone to notice them, all while radiating energy that they were too cool to care.

First, I stopped at a bistro and quickly found out it wasn’t the move. The menu was overpriced and overdone. A gaggle of college kids were gossiping next to me, I love a good cup of tea, but this frequency wasn’t it.

I opted for a place called Matador. I met my server, a woman with a friendly smile and a dog she loved. She wore pink sparkle lip gloss and a contagious smile. She was witty and funny, taking obvious pride in her job. I had a decent meal at a great price, dining off the happy hour menu.

I chose to eavesdrop on a much more interesting conversation here. One that took place between two men, maybe early 30s. One of them started to bald on the top of his head, the other, rocked the cool mustache look as described earlier.

I listened to the balding man divulge his dating journey. It was so interesting to listen to a man talk about dating women, candidly. It appears that honest communication is not a thing for this guy, and he seems drawn to ‘broken women’. He described a girl that he had just dated. He talked about how she grew up in an environment where she was constantly in fight or flight. I couldn’t focus on the rest of what he was saying because I fixated on that statement.

I was just like that girl I didn’t know from Adam. Slaying dragons, fighting tooth and nail. Only now to realize that joy exists, there are no monsters under my bed, and my ex was right when he repeated that you control the way you react to things.

I left with fresh perspective. I called the man who left his number on my windshield while I departed Boise towards the sunset. I thanked him for the chivalrous gesture while letting him know I was just passing through. I took it as a good omen for my future love life in Austin.

I stopped in a truck stop town and laid my head to rest at a Best Western. I experienced deep sleep and vivid dreams. Ten hours down, twenty-one more to go. All on time, I’d wake up in the morning and continue my odyssey.

The unknown tasted sweet and the work of getting there didn’t feel like work at all.