As a kid we took “are you there yet” road trips. Crashing through the Rocky Mountains at break-neck speeds in my grandparents’ camper van, there was no music on the radio and bathroom breaks could only last as long as it took for the gas tank to be filled. My Nina (my grandmother) would pack a cooler for the road and toss cold sausage rolls into my grandad’s mouth as we careened down the Coquihalla Highway.
These journeys were about the destination. There was no enjoyment to be had until the moment we landed soundly at Point B.
No exceptions.
Above: Nina & Grandad on a rarely seen pit stop on a family road trip
A personal point of pride for my grandad was getting from Vancouver to Calgary without stopping for a rest. (Bonus points for falling asleep at the wheel for a second but waking up before plummeting over a cliff.)
It wasn’t until I was an adult, road-tripping from Vancouver to the Okanagan with friends from my teacher education cohort that I saw there was any other kind of road trip.
A friend planned the trip. We stopped not only for breakfast but lunch, coffee, and bathroom breaks. We pulled over to take a picture in front of the Hope slide, at the tire fence (IFYKYK), and lost a good hour exploring a historic mine site somewhere between Princeton and Keremeos.
I paced at the side of the road every time we paused. (Quit BLOODY dilly dallying! shouted Grandad’s voice in my head.)
How could we be displaying this charade of fun when we weren’t even THERE yet?! I needed to know.
My oh-so patient friend, with probably well-adjusted non-military parents, pulled me aside.
“The vacation starts the minute we’re on the road!” he said joyfully.
My less-enlightened 2009 self probably narrowed her eyes, checked her watch, sucked her teeth and barked BE BACK AT THE CAR AT 14:40 OR I LEAVE WITHOUT YOU.
(If this story doesn’t tell you everything you’ve ever needed to know about who and why I am as a person, I don’t know what will.)
Even today, though I work at it, the “are we there yet” mindset still creeps in. I now find it pops up less around geographic journeys than the emotional, achievement kind.
Most recently, when we thought we’d have to move out of our beloved Vancouver laneway house (we don’t have to move, don’t worry!) I realized that despite how much I love our little place, I’ve barely shown it off at all, save for styled vignettes and zoomed-in product shots. And not for a want of doing so.
I’d been waiting until the baseboards were perfectly dusted, the gallery wall perfectly curated, the perfect piece of furniture perfectly placed in just the right spot and photographed when the natural light is just… you know. Perfect.
I even caught myself procrastinating about starting this newsletter in the name of perfection and waiting until I’m THERE. Not starting to write about our rented home because it’s not as perfect as the home we one day own will be, not starting to share photographs because I’ve not learned how to use my big camera properly yet … not wanting to press publish until the SEO was refined perfectly. (Spoiler alert I chose Substack so as not to faff with SEO or marketing sequences whatever those are this time around.)
But the thing about imaginary goalposts is that they just keep moving and moving.
The concept of THERE doesn’t even exist. And quite conversely, today’s right now could be a former and future self’s THERE, anyways.
How I hated those road trips. I hated the sausage rolls, the rushed bathroom breaks, the shocking speed at which Alberta and British Columbia raced by outside the windows. The cacophony of family arguments and the smell of the dog in the hot back seats of the camper.
But my goodness, if only I could have an interrupted eleven hours with my grandmother, my Nina, who passed away over 15 years ago now. If only I could breathe in the smell of Mack’s stinky golden retriever fur, languish in the games of 130km-per-hour solitaire on the wonky camper van kitchen table…
There was certainly joy to be had, I just hadn’t been taught to look for it.
Instead, I’m doing my best to start now.
So here we are, and I’m experimenting with a new, imperfect way of writing to you on Substack.
Imperfect but fun.
I hope to use it to share with you my musings on collecting a storied life and a storied home, as well as the stories and inspiration that cross my path. Every now and then the thoughts I want to expand upon are too long for an Instagram post and deserve a longer format than a caption can provide.
If the thoughts I’ve shared here resonated with you, you might enjoy the following musings on appreciating the present moment:
I’d love to know, what kind of family road trips did you have growing up? If anything, what did they teach you about yourself or the way you see the world?
P.S. If you missed it last week, you can click below to download the summer e-zine which is filled with ideas to inspire a summer of living in the moment!