On her road
Before I detail this journey thus far, I need to make something abundantly clear: what I’m doing right now is just as much of a learning process and opportunity to grow as it is a fun, impulsive way to see this country.
If circumstances were different, and I were a woman of color, this experience might not be possible. I’m barely able to travel alone as a woman and feel secure enough to actually enjoy the adventure, so it’s important for me to note that sure, what I’m doing is risky and brave and takes some spirit to commit to, but I still hold an abundance of privilege as a white lady that allows me to be free-spirited.
The nomadic lifestyle isn’t an option for some people. It isn’t accessible, it isn’t supported, and it just isn’t safe. I’m lucky to be born white and this trip is possible because I’m white. Let’s remember moving forward how the privilege we’re born into and brought up in impacts every reach of our journeys, including this one.
This has been...wild.
In May of 2017, I made a bold decision to forgo renewing a lease in Austin, sell most of my belongings, store the rest (including my sweet prince Bam) with gracious, willing family, and travel our big, beautiful country for an indefinite amount of time while working on the road. I’m currently one month into that adventure and all I can say is I wish I had done this a long, long time ago.
The trajectory, so far, goes as follows: Waco, TX - Fort Worth, TX - Odessa, TX - Ruidoso, NM - Durango, CO - West Jordan, UT - Butte, MT - Spokane, WA - Seattle, WA - Portland, OR - Canyonville, OR - Eureka, CA - Los Angeles, CA - Phoenix, AZ - Tucson, AZ - Ruidoso, NM.
All in one month. All in one car. All in due time. All with an open heart, eyes wide, seeking truth. Seeking newness. Seeking purpose.
I wanted photographs, adventure, new friendships, boundaries pushed, doors opened, total nirvana on a budget. I sought peace from nagging resentment, solitude from pressing expectations, a quiet mind after years of endless, insufferable chatter.
Some ghosts set up camp in the backseat of my car. Some thoughts I can’t purge - no matter how far I drive or how long I’m away. Some people make such a lasting impression on us, leave a deep, non washable stamp on our hearts, we can’t live our days without spending some time trying to forget them.
I guess that’s one goal of this adventure. Forget. Unclench. Let go. It’s difficult to move on from some of the things I left in Austin when I have many unending hours of alone time to mull over all of the things I could have done - all of the things I wish had happened - all the times I should have said, “enough,” but I sat comfortably in a familiar home of “let it slide,” “that’s just what they do,” “I’d be alone without them,” instead.
I don’t know what I’m getting at. I just thought as soon as I saw the skyline of Austin in the rearview mirror, I might let go of things more instantaneously and move on to grand adventures. That’s not the case. Hurt lingers. Memories last like when I fall asleep with a hair band around my wrist, leaving a deep, pink, sometimes aching ring on my skin.
Faces I’m trying to unglue myself from show themselves in strangers passing on the piers of new cities. But the new people I call friend will travel with me in my mind across the rest of this country too. And that’s special. The connections we make, no matter how brief, are special.
I stayed with an older Irish woman named Lesley while passing through Tucson. I walked through the door and she offered a cup of black tea with honey. Each wall in her home was a different vibrant color and she had photos of Frida Kahlo plastered all over her kitchen. She sensed a kindred spirit in me and immediately let loose. She moaned about the woman who stayed the night before me, who had stolen a blanket and left behind nude photos in the trash. She reminisced about the years she was homeless in London, but able to see Ike and Tina Turner twice for free. She mourned the children she couldn’t save as a social worker, and counted blessings for the five she adopted herself.
I left her home feeling hopeful. I did see pieces of myself in her, and I find solace knowing I can make some nontraditional decisions in my twenties, and end up with a self-made family one day, full of love and life.
I made friends with the owner of a coffee bar in Seattle. I discovered his place as the Official Bad Art Musuem. I walked in and was not disappointed. He had many opinions about Texas, which was especially amusing because he had never been. But it was all in good fun, and I pleasantly relayed how many confederate bumper stickers I had passed while driving from Spokane to Seattle (Two. Two confederate stickers. In Washington state. Yep.).
I spent four hours chatting about music, travel, tacos, and the City of Flowers with home boy and his employees. He told me to skip the "Texas Nachos" (tater tots covered with cheese and random nacho fixings -- offensive), so I opted for a grilled cheese instead. At the end of the encounter, as the sun began to set and I realized I had done NOTHING on my list that day, I bid myself adieu, and was shocked when my good byes were met with uproarious "nooooooooooo!" around the room. They made me promise I would come work for them or, at the very least, visit again.
Then there’s Benjamin in Portland. I could, and likely will, dedicate an entire novel to my time with him. All of the times I thought I had met love were practice leading up to the unforgettable day I met Benjamin. I actually can’t adequately articulate what it feels like to know him. And I didn’t know it was possible for someone to love me the way he does. My toes went numb when he stared in my eyes too long. As if my feet were saying, “no, we’re not moving from this spot.”
All of these precious moments, these single-serving coffee shop friends, these beautiful encounters that only exist because I decided to hit the road, are beginning to outshine the ghosts in the back seat. And that’s just magical.
I don't know what the next few weeks, months, years hold, but if the past month is any kind of indication for what I am in store, I'm unbelievably excited for time to pass.
Bethany Swoveland is a poet and digital artist in Texas. She’s available for freelance work and can be reached at bethanyswoveland@gmail.com. Sign up for Bethany’s monthly email newsletter here.
