For many years I dreamed of the day when I could hit the road and see a little more of the world, taking right up where I left off BC (before children). I was sure that as soon as they were “grown and gone” I would sell off everything I didn’t need and buy a Winnebago so that I could travel around the country seeing what I could see. That was going to be my answer to the eventual empty nest syndrome. It was going to be…
Well, the children are grown and gone. I down-sized quite a bit, but I still have a garage full of “stuff” I couldn’t bear to part with – yet. And there’s no Winnebago, or covered wagon, in my driveway.
My little HHR has been the stand in, and it has done a great job taming the miles that I have put in so far. But, in the midst of all my travels, I have made an unexpected discovery – I love to “go”, but I’m not all that crazy about the driving these days. It all starts out well enough, I do enjoy seeing the beauty of my surroundings and all of the interesting scenes flying past my window, but after a few hours of being under the wheel I’m suddenly over it and I just want to ‘be there’ – wherever ‘there’ is.
I can remember a time when I would just jump into my car and take off, without a moment’s hesitation. I lived for the pure joy of having someplace to go and the adventure of getting myself there. The prospect of driving for sixteen hours straight didn’t faze me. And then one day, things changed. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but it happened.
Perhaps it was around the time that my ophthalmologist suggested bifocals, or maybe it was the year that I surrendered to the rebel gray and stopped coloring my hair. Now that I think about it, it very well could have been right around the first time some smarty-pants teeny bopper cashier slipped a Senior Citizen discount onto my receipt without asking if I qualified.
These days, I don’t just jump in my car and take off, I carefully calculate time and distance and mood before I embark on one of my adventures. And surprisingly, I have found that I’m not above changing my mind at the last minute and staying home. I’d like to blame my e.m.PD, but I have a sneaking suspicion that getting older is the more viable culprit that makes me less inclined to venture too far from the comforts of home.
Needless to say, I’ve decided to put the Winnebago dream on hold for the present time. At least, until I meet a travel buddy who loves to drive, or they invent autopilot for motor homes.
It could happen.