I love London. I love Ireland. I love Europe. But where I’m itching hard to go is on a cross-country road trip around the U.S. I might be romanticizing and Hollywood-izing, but I want that sense of freedom. I want to use actual, physical, pain-in-the-arse-to-fold maps. Or to just go by road signs, if I want to. I want to stop at whatever scenic overlook I want because time is not of the essence.
I want to explore. I want to see small places and big places and eat the best food in nondescript buildings and stay in tents, in Route 66-throwback motels, in B&Bs, and even on a couch or two. I want to work toward fulfilling my quest of seeing all the Capital buildings.
I want to work on breaking down my shell and making connections with people. Lend a helping hand and, most likely, be lent one as well. I want to show myself that I am capable of doing certain things, things I know deep down I could – if I HAD to – but in my daily life feel anxious about having to endure. To be brought closer to the self I know is in me, that is the real me. Waiting.
Always waiting. That’s what I feel my life has been like since my last major trip. But it has less to do with the transformative nature of travel and more to with building up my own self-confidence, self-reliance, and courage. I just like to use the best catalyst I know when I feel really stuck. Travel. And then perhaps the waiting will stop.