Day 19: The Highs / Lows of the Open Road

As I left the waterfront hotel along the Columbia River, I realized I had been on the road for almost three weeks. Today, I checked into an affordable Airbnb inland, where I plan to stay for the next three nights. Max will get a little rest from the constant motion, and I’ll have time to catch up on my writing. Slowing down, I finally have space to reflect.

Why I Set Out on This Road Trip

When I packed my bags and started this journey, it wasn’t just about chasing sunsets or ticking places off a map. I wanted to shake things up—to step out of my routines and see what life might look like somewhere else. Maybe I’d stumble into a new city that felt like home. Or maybe, after weeks of wandering, I’d realize the place I’ve lived for decades was the home I was searching for all along.

The idea of a fresh start sounded thrilling: endless roads, new horizons every day. And truthfully, it has been exciting. I’ve met kind strangers, stood before breathtaking landscapes, and lived in the thrill of not knowing what’s around the next bend.

But here’s the part people don’t often say out loud: it’s exhausting.

The Highs and Lows of Road Trips

Every day feels like a gamble between magic and fatigue. Some mornings I wake up inspired, ready for adventure. Other nights, I’m restless—unsure where I’ll sleep, or if I’ll even feel safe enough to close my eyes.

That constant not-knowing pushes me to grow, but it also wears me down. Without a routine, even small decisions start to feel heavy: Where to eat? Which town to stop in? Do I keep driving or stay put? The freedom is intoxicating, but the fatigue is real.

The Emotional Side of Solo Travel

Meeting people on the road has been one of the highlights. A quick chat at a café, a kind recommendation for a hidden trail—these moments remind me of the goodness in people. But they also remind me how temporary it all is. Every hello comes with a goodbye.

Travel amplifies emotions. The joy feels brighter, sharper. But when the lows hit—loneliness, exhaustion, doubt—they sink deeper too.

Searching for a Sense of Home

More than once, I’ve asked myself: What am I really looking for out here?

The truth is, I’m searching for belonging. Is there a town tucked between the mountains or along the coast that will feel like mine? Or will all these miles circle me back to where I started, reminding me that home has been there all along?

I don’t have the answer yet. But I know the search itself is part of the process. The road is teaching me that “home” isn’t just a zip code—it’s the feeling of being grounded, the balance of rest and adventure.

Learning to Rest on the Road

Tonight, I’m letting myself sit in the exhaustion instead of fighting it. Rest doesn’t mean weakness, and it doesn’t mean this trip has failed. It simply means I’m human.

This road is shaping me—and that’s worth every mile.