Somewhere around hour 18 or 19 of my road trip to California, I was devastated to arrive at the conclusion that I am getting way too old for this. I was thinking back to the countless cross-country road trips I did in high school and I could not remember it ever feeling this awful. I was exhausted, delirious, and felt like someone was stabbing my left eye. At 22, I may have to pack it in and retire from my title as Road Trip Queen.

It occurred to me later that the problem is getting too old to retrace those same steps by myself. When I was in high school, the trip itself was still new and exciting. I was also a lot more willing to stop when I needed to. Jefferson City to LA is about 25–26 hours of straight driving. My travel time used to fall somewhere a little over 30 hours, because I would stop to sleep along the way.

Now that have done this trip more times than I can count (seriously, I tried, and I actually can’t remember all the times I have done this), my standards have changed. Anything more than 27 hours is regarded as a failure. I’ve also become more sensitive to the threat of sleeping alone in my car at some super sketchy truck stop. At 16, I was aware that such dangers existed, but I was fearless. These days, I only sleep at specific well-lit truck stops or while the sun is out — no more dark rest areas for me. I wouldn’t get any sleep even if I tried to; I would be so damned anxious about my impending doom at the hands of a middle-aged pot-bellied murdering rapist ex-con trucker.*

When I was 17 I did the trip with my best friend for the first time. We took the two hour detour to the Grand Canyon. We went to a “Dinosaur Park” in Arizona that I had seen advertised. Once, when I was 15 and my mom did all of the driving, we stopped at the Petrified National Forest because my mom didn’t know how to explain what petrified wood was and decided it would be better to just show us.

The point is that I used to soak it all in. I love all the ridiculous shit that you discover when you spend a little time on our interstate system. On this drive, I noticed a new truck stop coming into Amarillo from the east: “Jesus Saves Travel Center.” The building and all of the gas pumps were emblazoned with messages of God’s love for the believers and the impending doom at the hands of the aforementioned pot-bellied trucker for all the non-believing sinners. There was a time when I would have gotten off at the next exit and doubled back to take a picture. Road trips used to be about an opportunity to concede to my most quixotic impulses. Somehow, I let it become nothing more than a method of transportation.

I miss taking pictures of dinosaur park statues and lightning and road signs. But stopping to take a picture still isn’t enough. I miss having people to share it with. Unfortunately, everyone else seems to be playing grown-up with alarming conviction. They are not in the position to put life on hold for a week to drive across the country.

Which brings me back to the beginning: I am 22. This is not old. In spite of all of my general frustration with the futility of my job-hunt and the failure I feel over my own indecision in deciding what it is actually want to do, this is exactly where I am supposed to be right now. I am certain that my 12-year-old self anticipated that I would be a millionaire by now, and half-way to retirement because OMG 22 IS SO OLD. But it’s not.

It’s not old and I am 110% entitled to get off the freeway to investigate a ridiculous sign I saw 20 miles back. And I don’t have to keep it to myself. The great thing about our generation’s technological dependence, is our ability to always be connected. Usually, this annoys me because sometimes I just don’t want to answer my phone or respond to your text messages and NO, it’s not because I’m busy it’s because I just don’t want to talk to you and it has nothing to do with being a misanthrope, I JUST DON’T FEEL LIKE IT. However, adding two hours to my trip so I could swing through Atlanta to take a picture? So worth it. Texting my friend whenever I see a Leslie’s Pool Supply so that we can comment on their inevitable world domination? It’s all part of the fun.

My high school memories and milestones are not littered around a singular hometown. They are not confined to the swing sets and driveways within a 20 mile radius; they are hanging from the street lights and road signs all across the western half of the country.

I will re-visit them all as often as I can. And I will learn to take my time.

*No offense, truckers. Really. I think most of you are super awesome. But there is definitely a middle-aged pot-bellied murdering rapist ex-con among you who is currently waiting for the golden opportunity to terminate me. I’m sure of it.

p.s. go check out Late To The Party.