In my mind, from what I can vividly remember, I’ve never left the state of Michigan.
My parents remind me time and time again that I have, in fact, been to Chicago and boarded a plane to Florida—they even have the pictures to prove it—but these experiences seem to have eluded the selective memories I have of my childhood.
Although I’ve always been the kid who’s unafraid to take an adventure to an extreme, unforgettable level, it amazes me that my family got me on that plane in the first place. Never seeing the appeal of being an early riser, the reality of a 5:00 a.m. flight isn’t the greatest start to convincing me of a travel plan—not to mention the need to interact with other human beings that early in the morning wouldn’t just be miserable for myself but for everyone else who comes in contact with me.
However, that would be the least of my worries. After the grumpy morning haze had lifted from my head, panic would quickly take its place. I don’t remember anything about the flight, but I’m assuming that the idea of being miles in the air didn’t necessarily appeal to me at that time either. It’s not only the ongoing thought of impending doom—always circling back to death in one way or another—that floods my mind every time I think about flying, but spending extensive hours in a metal container, breathing the same heavy and suffocating air as each stranger I would sit too close to, is precisely my worst nightmare.
Any other mode of transportation remains superior, but I also wouldn’t be too fond of being stranded in an even smaller metal container at sea as well.
This is why the keys to my freedom go to my very own minivan that’s got a much bigger personality than mine. The sizable dents, not inflicted by me, pockets of rust, doors that hardly work, and locks that are simply used for decoration a lot of the time only make me love her even more. I’m far from picky about anything that I drive; as long as it gets me from place to place, I’m grateful.
The photos and videos I come across on social media that encapsulate the feeling of someone’s experience exploring the world never fail to make me the tiniest bit envious. Up until recently, I’ve been content with visiting the Upper Peninsula year after year and seeing the beaches I’ve sat on countless times before, but my attraction to seeing something unique to my eyes has yet to be fully reached.
I long to taste the salt on my lips from wading through the ocean, to feed my soul with the knowledge of what it’s like to drive endlessly towards whatever it is I’m looking for, and to camp without a worry of what day it is in a van by a river—but not Chris Farley style.
For now, however, I’ll continue to park my car at the airport with the sunset brightening my eyes and watch the unfamiliar people embark on their personal journeys, dreaming of the adventures I wish to live.
