We’re home from the longest road trip I’ve ever taken. We drove my little gray Honda Civic from Iowa to Arizona and back again. On the way we saw a sunset in Texas and flickering nighttime monsoon clouds in New Mexico. In Arizona we celebrated a milestone and spent a few days on a remote ranch where my phone didn’t work, where internet was nonexistent. Heading towards home we caught up with old friends, and I bought a hat.
It was a great trip. There’s nothing like driving 3700 miles to make you realize what a vast and varied country we live in.
And after all that, after the driving and the landscape and the speculative conversations about buying a ranch somewhere in the high plains, after you’ve slept in seven different beds in less than two weeks, after New Mexico has won the donkey-density contest, after the landscape is familiar again and you no longer need Droidette’s* robotic instructions to get you where you’re going, after you’re home—there’s nothing like easing back into your own life and realizing it fits just right.
*our new nickname for the voice that speaks from the navigation app on my phone