I got pulled over the other day. I was going five over the speed limit and with the flow of traffic. I also had California plates in Wyoming. I think I was profiled. Now it’s back to my grandma-like style of driving. I had to sit in the cop car while the cop ran my license. He asked me questions while another officer talked to Tim. I was told that I didn’t have to answer if I didn’t want to. I like to talk about myself. I told our whole story. The officer was kinda jealous of our four month road trip. Most people seem to be. Why do people think they can’t do something like this? There are always a million reasons not to do something.

Because of this trip, we’re getting to experience things we’d never dream of. I’m not talking big things. Just little things like helping Uncle Elmer bring the herd of cows in from the pasture. There was no fence between us and these huge animals. They were scared of us, not realizing they could squish us if they’d wanted to. After that Uncle Elmer told us we could climb the grain holder building thing and look at the view. I didn’t want to, but I did. Really fast. Without looking down or thinking about how well the stairs were bolted on.

If we’d said that we’d love to take a trip like this but came up with a million reason why not to, I wouldn’t have the memory of that one time I was brave. I wouldn’t remember the fear of being asked to sit in a cop car, and then realize later that what hadn’t crossed my mind was that I would be ok because of my skin color. I wouldn’t remember the sunset, or my dog with his bad hip jumping off the porch because it was the quickest way to us. And you know, there are a million reasons why we shouldn’t have gone on this trip. It costs money we don’t have (borrow). The dog might not travel well (he does). We might put too many miles on the car (we’re somewhere around 10,000). We might miss our bed (sometimes). We might get tired of being together (nope, opposite). We might discover how awesome life is somewhere other than Burbank (it could happen).

I’m a pessimistic realist who looks at the glass as half empty. Even the idea of this trip is a stretch for me. What started out as a search for direction has turned into even more of a gift as I’m finding me in little bits and pieces here and there. Little cracks of unexpected joy. In the black and white faced three day old cow that let me bottle feed her. My dog sticking his nose in cow poop because he’s never smelled it before. Giggling with Tim over something stupid (usually one of us quoting Gilmore Girls or The Office, or him laughing at how weird I’m acting because he’s recording me for one of our videos). Pieces are falling into place. They’re tiny, insignificant even. But when put together they are beginning to create a masterpiece.