Today is my birthday. I am (gulp!) 72. WHAT?
I like to joke that vandwelling is a form of dementia prevention. And road tripping is that on steroids — a veritable vaccine against Alzheimer’s.
Why? Because of the constant daily challenges to the brain
You can’t sit and vegetate in your regular routine. There is no routine — well, some, but you are mostly making it up as you go along. That takes thought, imagination, and creativity, all very good exercise for your noodle.
Let’s say you are on a hypothetical camping trip through the western U.S. and Canada, to dozens of places (not to mention a country) you’ve never been before.
Every town you stop in has an unfamiliar layout and you have to find what you’re looking for — a camp spot; a place to dump your, uh, trash; water; food; local scenery or entertainment.
Sure, you have Google to help, which makes this kind of trip way easier than it used to be, but every new place still feels uncomfortably strange until you’ve scoped it out and settled in. But before you know it, it’s time to move on to yet another new place.
There’s more but you get my point. This vandwelling/road-tripping thing is good for the brain. But it’s not just about going places and seeing things, externally. It’s about the inner journey, too.
I am on a quest
I mentioned this to a friend this morning, and she asked me what I was looking for.
“Oh, you know,” I said, not really knowing. “It’s that old cliché: myself.”
Yeah, that’s it: I’m finding myself.
It’s a tired way of saying that I am learning to accept myself as I am. I am no longer trying to be someone else, the better version of me that I’ve clung to through most of these seven decades. I don’t have to be famous. I don’t have to get rich. I don’t have to be perfect. (And frankly, it’s as little late for that.)
It’s a big relief not to have to listen to that inner critic berating me all the time. Highly recommended.
I am facing a few fears, too
Five years ago, when I was planning LaVonne’s Big Adventure, I was worried about going to bear country and mosquito country and anywhere that I might be the slightest bit uncomfortable.
Nineteen years living in San Diego (“America’s Finest City!”) can do that to you: you get spoiled — zero bears, almost no mosquitoes, and the weather is practically perfect.
So here I am in the Pacific Northwest, sweating through some 100-degree days and scratching a few mosquito bites: no big deal. Bears are another matter. I’d better buy some bear spray.
But the real fear is more amorphous: fear of the unknown
I can understand the ancient human dread of uncharted territory (“Here be dragons!”) If I haven’t been somewhere, it doesn’t matter how many times I look at it on Google Maps; I’m nervous, my stomach feels queasy, and I just want to stay put.
Maybe that’s why I’ve encountered a lot of long delays on this trip: I need time to work up the courage to go and see what’s around the bend, what’s over the horizon.
That’s where the quest comes in
Over and over on this trip, I am learning that facing fear is exhilarating, like pedaling a bike up a hill, cresting the top, and coasting down the other side with the wind in your face.
It feels good.
