Choose your Ride

Yesterday, I spent the day doing one of my favorite things: watching the world go by at 60 miles per hour through the windshield of my RV. This time, I’m off to Pennsylvania, where I’ll be checking out Dutch Country.

The reason I chose this location for a trip this early in the spring is because it’s about 300 miles south of my home in Massachusetts, and therefore, just a tiny bit closer to Spring. On the drive down, I saw evidence of that on the sides of the highway. On the median strips, the grass changed from a dull, winter-worn brownish shade to the fresh lime-green that only exists for a couple of weeks every year. At home, some of the trees and bushes had a fuzzy ring around their edges, hinting at the colors that are about to peak through. Down here, it’s full-on spring, with the brilliant yellow of the forsythias and the puffy white of the dogwoods at their showy best.

I think I timed this perfectly. I’m taking in all the best that spring has to offer down here, and just as that’s about to give-way to the less-spectacular (but still much appreciated) early summer colors, I’ll head back up north and get to live through the spring highlights all over again.

Another difference I noticed is the terrain. Massachusetts is hilly, but Pennsylvania really has the market cornered on rolling hills. I love driving on the quiet little rural roads here. They twist through bucolic farm lands punctuated by neat white farm houses, many decorated with distinctly colorful Amish dresses flapping on lines beside them. So many of these little roads have tiny shoulders, measuring in inches, giving the feel that you’re actually driving on the farm, rather than past it.

I noticed another change too, this time looking internally. It was less than 2 years ago that I embarked on my first solo adventure in the RV, and every day was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Each morning of that trip, I slid behind the wheel, took a deep breath, started the engine, and hoped for an uneventful day. I never fully relaxed from that moment until I was parked in my camping spot for the night. I blogged each evening about the days triumphs and trials, eager to share my journey with the friends and family I was leaving behind.

How different this trip was! I slept like a log the night before the trip, got up early, threw some clothes into the RV, and slid behind the wheel. While driving, I listened to podcasts and enjoyed both classic rock and classical music on the radio. The miles slipped away easily while I watched spring popping up in front of me. I gave almost no thought to the things that might go wrong, and nothing did. Easy peasy.

Remarkable, right, how thoroughly we humans adapt? What was foreign and exotic two years ago has become routine. Slipping behind the wheel of an 11,000-pound vehicle seems perfectly natural now, and a 300-mile trip is just another good day. In two years, I’ve reached the point where this type of trip doesn’t cause anxiety, it relieves it.

All of this reminds me that life is a journey, and the really cool thing is that we get to choose our mode of transportation. Sometimes its an RV, sometimes it’s a car, sometimes it’s a kayak. Sometimes it’s a good pair of sneakers. Sometimes you might choose to jump out of a plane and travel by parachute for a few minutes.

Doesn’t really matter. Even when you think you’re doing nothing, you’re still on a journey. After all, you live on hunk of rock that’s hurtling through space at 1,000 miles per hour, so even when you’re just sitting on the couch flicking through Tic Tok, you’re making good time. Sometimes the journey is about resting up for the next adventure.

The point is: it’s your journey. Whenever possible, choose a mode of transportation that lights your fire.

Mark Twain wrote:

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do, so throw off the bowlines, sail away from safe harbor, catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore, Dream, Discover.

Words to live by.

Kimba

© Kimberlee Martin, 2022. All rights reserved.