14 years ago, when a relocation to India prompted me to start this blog, I began my blog with this quote:
The night before departure on My Great American Road Trip, I am again feeling like a snail being pulled off my rock. I wake up with that “what have I done?” feeling in the pit of my stomach, and the Fear-of-the-Unknown gremlins are doing a dance in my head.
What on earth possessed me to think I should do this crazy trip? I could board a plane in Oregon this morning, and be back home in Rochester before dark. Instead, I'll be getting into a car I've never driven, and for weeks traipsing around the country, relying only on the voice of Gaia, my GPS lady, to keep me on track. Instead of sleeping in the comfort of my own sweet bed, I'll be sleeping in tents and trailers and tipis and a train caboose.
Having done many a road trip, I know that once I hit the road, this will be pass. I will probably even get to a point where I'll be thinking: "Why didn't I do this sooner?!" And right about the half-way point, I'll start plotting my next trip.
But today, it's all "earthquake and convulsion" and I'm a snail being pulled off my rock.
Snail in Ketchikan, Alaska (Ok, it's a snail on a stick, not a rock, but this was the closest thing I could find in my photo archives)