I've been thinking a lot about road trips lately. Sometimes I have memories that I immortalize, put on a pedestal and set a halo above. One of those is a road trip.
It was early evening in late July. The sky was a deeply perfect blue, and as the sun set, the darkening hue became more and more majestic. We were driving through Utah, and were halfway to our destination: Santa Barbara, California. I'm sitting in the passenger seat, talking casually to my sister and reading Harry Potter on and off to my mom who was driving. We stop chatting for a second and notice the rock formations and red-stone canyons we're driving through. They're breathtaking. Against that blue color, the glowing red rock was something out of my Freedom-of-the-West/Want-to-be-a-lonesome-Colorado-Cowgirl dreams... It made me wish I had a guitar to pull out and start plucking away at, with a country twang and a forlorn song to croon around a campfire.
A lot happened on that roadtrip. Relational breakthroughs were made, dreams were discovered, bad hair cuts were bought. In an attempt be somewhat discreet about my family and our dynamics, I'll keep it short. My parents have two daughters, me and Katie Rose. I'm the loud drama queen who can be straight as an arrow because of my ability to drown in guilt and remorse. My sister, though, is quiet and serene who has chosen to be the complete opposite of me, no matter what. I liked salad, she didn't. I liked pizza, she didn't. I hated orange, she loved it. I was an Abercrombie girl, she was sporty and refused to wear makeup. When I hit my teenage years, I have to confess, the bully rights given to an older sister got a little out of hand. I don't blame her for not really liking me, in all honesty. But on this roadtrip, common bonds were formed. We both decided we liked long car rides. We discovered that we had similar tastes in music, and the fashion trends that she was starting to adore were some that I had already dipped my feet into.
Roadtrips can bring so much life and learning.
I'd like to start in a far away city, some place out here on the east coast. Maybe Boston, or D.C. I'll leave a metropolitan city and make my way back home to Colorado, passing through Hickville's and Po-dunk towns alike. Some will be exhaustingly boring, some will change my life. Folk music, jazz, and a little bit of classic rock is a necessity. A cowboy hat and big black sunglasses are a must. Just imagine all those stops at gas stations to load up on Red Bull for the late night drives, and the rainstorms you'll encouter that will make you wish you never left. But when I open the garage upon arrival at my destination, and I'm throwing away the trash I've accumulated over the miles, I think I'll feel a tad more full, more whole, and a bit brighter.
It is my favorite luxury right now, my dearest dream to think about as I doze off into sleep at night.
Damnit, where are my keys?
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