Driving alone eight hours at a time, gorging oneself on bean tacos, Krispy Kreme donuts and Mountain Dew Code Red isn’t the sexiest way to conduct a road trip. But I’ll tell you without shame… it was certainly my way.
Two weeks ago I packed my beat-up, old car with two suitcases, one box of books, a cactus and my guitar and I started driving. I wasn’t looking for a wild, Jack-Kerouac-style ride. I didn’t want to stopover in town after town, drumming up adventure. I didn’t have my usual ‘no-schedule-is-the-best-schedule” attitude. For the first time in three years of very consistent travel, I was roving with intention. I was leaving point A with a distinct point B in mind and Goddess bless anyone who would try to get in my way.
The 1,800 mile drive was tedious. Damn near maddening sometimes. I was short on patience and sleep and for days I didn’t eat anything that wasn’t fried (leaving me feeling distinctly blob-like.) I didn’t have the opportunity to hike, or yoga, or read, or meditate or do any of the things that have become my self-prescribed medication against manic-depression.
So once I hit Georgia (and grumpily cried about taking a bite of a roast beef sandwich when I had vowed to give up meat again,) I decided it was well past time for a little self-love. I stopped in my first ever home-away-from-home. The city I moved to as a wee 18 year old with big dreams of being an artist. The one, the only, beautiful, wonderful, magical Savannah.
I stayed the night at an old friend’s house. I played with her dog, and the next morning I slept in. I took myself to lunch on the river and ate king crab legs and greens. My packed car and I cruised the historic avenues to Forsythe Park where I got out and walked, rubbing my hand along the rough bark of the age-old Live Oaks while the spanish moss whispered stories to me. I did yoga in the grass. I laid on my stomach and read Siddhartha aloud. I sat with my face towards the sun and closed my eyes and found balance. And it was lovely. Necessary, even. But after a couple of hours i found myself itching. As it was, I was anxious to get back in that god-forsaken car. Whoda thunk?
I needed to get back on the road. To keep driving that arduous drive. I needed it because at the end of the drive something was waiting for me. Something I have spent much money, time and effort avoiding over the last few years…
And so here I am, now, in my new city,finally ready to put down some roots… at least for now.
I’ve made it to New Orleans, y’all! And I’m home.