The Journey

It’s December 23rd, 2022, 8:13 PM.

If you are reading this it is Sunday April 2nd, 2023. I’m giving myself three months of a head start before I start sharing this journey.

Journey.

God, how I hate journeys. These days I’m more of a destination kind of girl. I love to travel, but for me the worst part of traveling is the actual travel part. It’s stressful and chaotic. It often requires more of an alertness and emotional load than what I want to invest. Sometimes it requires a longer drive to the closest airport than the flight itself. It is finding parking, then the shuttle, then printing a ticket, and the adrenaline rush of security. It’s finding your gate, then the bathroom, and a much too expensive cold but supposed to be hot breakfast. It’s hoping you don’t get seated next to a talker, small child, or in a middle seat. It’s turbulence. It’s people not understanding there is no need to stand until it is time for your row to exit the plane. It’s finding ground transportation in an airport that feels unnecessarily large with signs that seem like they should be clear but really aren’t. It’s deciding on a taxi, shuttle, or Uber and avoiding getting scammed on your way there. And maybe it’s not a flight at all. Maybe it’s a drive. It’s bumper to bumper traffic around big cities. It’s driving five hours in one direction and barely being at the border of your own state or out of the Mid-West. It’s trying to remember if you locked the door or packed enough underwear, or, dang it, I forgot the sunscreen. Guess I’ll have to make a stop. It’s finding a gas station that doesn’t give you “hope I don’t get murdered vibes.” It’s hoping I don’t get a flat tire or lock the keys in the car. It’s hoping my GPS doesn’t lead me down the wrong road and praying I make it to the hotel safely.

And it’s not just travel. I strongly dislike the journey in all parts of my life.

In my house, there is a sign that hangs above a doorway that says, “Even the longest journey begins with a single step.” A much younger, naiver version of myself purchased the hand painted sign at a local craft fair many years ago. At the time it spoke to me. It was meant to inspire me. It was to remind me that I could have anything I wanted so long as I took that first monumental step in the right direction. And if it turned out that in the end it was the wrong direction it didn’t matter because it was the journey that was most important. It was how I got there, what I learned, and who I met along the way. It was the pain and the tears and loss but also the laughter and joy and bliss. It was about finding myself and learning lessons and insights and becoming a wise old sage. It was about becoming me.

But now, I am me and this me hates journeys. This me only craves destinations. This me turns 40 in February and no longer has anything to prove. This me is living the life I have always wanted to live. I have a job I am passionate about. A home. Good credit. A savings account. Relationships with family and friends. Travel. Hobbies. And self-awareness. No longer do I have put in the work on these journeys. I have arrived.

Sadly, I have only one destination that alludes me and it’s a journey that I’ve attempted and failed at many times before. That is a journey to being a healthier me. While it does mean being at a healthier weight, being more active, and eating less chocolate chip cookies, it also means doing a better job managing stress and My Anxiety. It means getting to the root of unhealthy behaviors and self-defeating thoughts, especially the ones that keep me up at night. I want to be tough and sharp, both mentally and emotionally.

Today I’m committing to taking that single step on what will surely be the longest journey.

This will be hard.

I will hate it.

But I will do it.