New York or Bust!

by Lisa Gioia-Acres of Gioia Chronicles

I didn’t make it to New York. Missed the reunion I was a key part in organizing and missed the music festival I so looked forward to attending. Here’s what happened.  First I got tired. Then I got logical. I wish the latter had come first, like before I packed the car and pulled out of the driveway. But so much was riding on this trip that I couldn’t just not go; besides, I’d driven across country before so in my mind I could do it again.

In the Spring, I decided to take a road trip this summer, a leisurely month-long drive east to visit my hone state as well as parts of the country I’d never taken the time to check out before. I began reconnecting with long-lost family members and friends from school and ended up building my trip around a reunion. Then my husband balked at the length of time I’d be away, so I reconsidered and cut a week off the trip. Then a phone call came offering me a 3-month contract job with the government that would begin in mid-July, and I cut my trip even shorter.

I had a free round-trip standby airline ticket, so I looked for available seats on any Southwest flight in the vicinity of Buffalo, New York: Norfolk, Virginia, Baltimore, Maryland, Albany, even New Hampshire, but the response was always, “no availability.” “Shoot,” I told myself, “I’ll still drive!” I seriously did not begin to doubt my decision until two days before my departure date, but how could I back out then? So, with the best of attitudes, I kissed my husband goodbye and said, “See you in two weeks!” My companions were a seven-year-old boy, my grandson, and two small dogs–less room in the car but great company.

It was the second night, when I found myself on the border of Colorado and Kansas, that I wished for the comfort of my own bed, the routine of my life, and not the countless miles of pavement that stretched before me. As I realized that I was only halfway to New York, that I had only four short days to visit, and that I’d have to turn around and make the drive all over again, I began to balk. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it. Worse still, if I got back to Vegas on schedule, accomplished only by pushing myself, I’d have to report on location to the National Park Service the day after arriving home. “Uh uh,” I said, “can’t be done – won’t!” It was in Independence, Missouri that I made up my mind:  we were going back home.

Once the decision was made I felt the weight of the burden lift, even though I knew the trip back would be just as trying. I was in the middle to the country for heaven’s sake; I couldn’t just blink my way back to Las Vegas. But knowing that in two days, not twelve, I’d be there gave me the energy and motivation to continue on.  We pulled into the driveway around noon on Friday, at almost the exact same hour we had left just six days earlier. I was exhausted and relieved, but the long hours of driving and the fear that I wouldn’t make it were over. Yes, I’m back in the Las Vegas heat. Yes, I didn’t get to experience that reunion or concert I was so looking forward to.  Still, I have to accept the fact that I bit off much more than I could chew.

What lesson am I to learn from this? What was the purpose of this journey? Why in God’s name do I put myself through these challenges? I haven’t wholly figured out the answers to those questions, but they are slowly coming to light. What keeps coming to mind is that during much of this experience, we found ourselves in the state of Kansas, a state that seems to go on forever. I told my with my husband, “I can’t seem to get out of Kansas.” And then there were all those billboards advertising “Oz”, a museum about one of my favorite childhood movies. Over and over in my head I kept hearing, “There’s no place like home.” Is that irony or is that the message?

I only wish I could have clicked my heels the way Dorothy did and found myself home when I first realized that’s exactly where I wanted to be.