I recently became unemployed. That’s not true. It’s been almost four months. Time flies when you’re having a ball with zero responsibilities, save keeping the love of your life (it’s my dog) healthy and happy. He really is the love of my life. Quite honestly right now I can’t say I love anything more or anything loves me more, so if that doesn’t make him the love of my life, I don’t know what does. If you think that sounds sad, that’s on you. Me? I feel glorious. 

I’m no stranger to unemployment, though in the past it’s always been intentional. This time it was unplanned, a bit expected and totally necessary. Appreciated really. I sometimes have a hard time switching courses, even when I’ve overstayed my welcome. Pretty sure the HR lady thought I had lost my mind as I expressed my utmost gratitude and clearly meant it. Anyway, I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics. I was gifted a cushion to find my feet, and only after I stomped that into pristine flatness while doing absolutely nothing else, did I decide it was a good idea to take a 4,000+ mile road trip I had been putting off for years. Key West. Plus side trips. I meant to go last winter, but the weather and an extremely inadvisable love interest intercepted me.

All Freddie wanted for Christmas was to travel south to his motherland. Get back to his roots. Be reminded where he came from so he could fully appreciate where he’s at. Yes, obviously I’m aware that’s me speaking for Fred. Who cares, we’re going to Key West by way of Alabama. Which is where I am now, taking a zero day in southern Alabama, snacking on all my remaining snacks and making all the coffee. It’s raining and I don’t want my first time seeing the Florida coast to be rainy, and you know what? It doesn’t have to be. Because one thing I’ve got right now is the luxury of time. And I prefer to roll in with the sun.

What a beautiful state, Alabama. At least the parts I’m weaving through, thanks to Reader’s Digest and their newly renewed and updated (circa 2012) Most Scenic Drives in America, the awkwardly large hardcover propped up on my passenger seat. So many waterfalls and canyons. I’m bouncing from state park to national forest, hiking all the hikes, absorbing all the views, panicking when I’m an hour away from my chosen map dot, but night falls in forty, which means I’ll have to pop the tent in the dark unknown.

And because the next day I choose to make the best of a rain delay by turning it into an admin day, a volunteer Forest Ranger will roll up at 2PM informing me I’m illegally camping in overflow parking (what?), thus the pink tape tied around a metal pole and lack of site number and lack of fire ring and lack of picnic table. Didn’t you notice?

I did not. These are things I don’t need, expect or look for. I’m dreadfully low maintenance in certain areas, you naturally just become so if you want to hike thousands of miles with a smile. Focus on what you have, not what you don’t, which at the time was a flat piece of forest in the rainy darkness. Jackpot.

Unreadable head shake. If law enforcement came around, they’d be sure to give me a ticket. Taking in his National Forest Service Volunteer hat and general overall awesomeness, I said I was glad he wasn’t law enforcement then. I watch him take in my ‘keep it rad’ sweatshirt with old timers riding horses, weird hairdo+ general overall ridiculousness, and he somehow finds it in his heart to forgive me, we’re friends now. He even offers to cruise around the grounds to let me know which sites are available as I pack up. Site #2 is most protected from the wind, supposed to get down to 33 tonight. Well #2 it is then. I thank him for his kindness.

Coming to you live from site #2, that’s what happens when you pop the tent in the dark unknown. Not to mention, it often means Fred will be on the rooftop for like 12+ hours immediately after being in the car for the travel part, but that’s just the way this goes and he seems fine with it. He loves this truck as much as I do.

He’s also extremely wary of the dark unknown, and total night falls around 6PM these days. He prefers being safely up in the tent post dusk, low-growling at all the foreign noises from his lookout above. He’s pretty great. I remind myself we’re both getting more daily exercise than we do at home, so maybe relaxing with the sun is just what we need.

Man. This dog has a big life, and all I can think is, I’M NOT DOING ENOUGH. Can you imagine people with human children? Oof. No wonder parents are wildly insane.

Not exactly sure why I began randomly telling strangers who commented on Fred’s unique appearance or asked his breed (we get that a lot, he’s a purebred mutt, I say) that actually? Fred’s local, from Alabama. I’m from Wisconsin, brought him down to find his dog family. I’m not sure if they thought I was being serious or not. To be fair, I’m not sure if I was either. It’s not like I didn’t secretly hope to find more Fred’s down here. A couple folks were confused as to how a Wisconsin girl came into possession of an Alabama dog. So they shipped him all the way up to Wisconsin? But…why? So I told them about kill shelter focused, shelterless rescue organizations. I just assumed everyone knew about those, but I don’t think they did.

Wait. Where was I.

So yeah, is this a great time to hit the road? Nah. Every dollar spent now is pulling from an account that hasn’t been added to in months. I just returned from a pre-jobless planned multi-week extravaganza in Belize for Lily’s birthday, where I found it impossible not to have the best time and not to return with all of the wares. And I mean all of them. I could set up a Belizian art store. Everywhere I go, I’m a patron of the local arts, and in awe of the people who create it. I had to buy a bag for all my bags and check one, which I haven’t done since 2006. And the day I left for Key West, I still didn’t have a proper job lined up. 

But this is the one direction of the lower 48 my FJ hasn’t tripped, and that’s a memory I want to fondly reminisce upon when that’s the only traveling I can do. Cuz if not now, when? She turns 18 this year. I don’t know how long cars last, I hope it’s forever. It’s probably not. The week I left, both headlights went out inconveniently a day apart. Bonus, I learned how to change my headlights. I also learned from the lady (yes, lady) on the internet that you should buy in pairs because they tend to have the same lifespan, which the young dude who was supposed to be helping me at the auto store should have informed me, and I wanted to point that out to him when I returned for the second headlight, but decided not to teach a lesson that day.

My tires lost half their pressure due to the wild air temp fluctuations of driving from Southern Wisconsin to Northern Minnesota last weekend for my birthday reunion with childhood friends. My too-flat windshield has had a wavy crack across the bottom for years; people keep telling me to get it replaced, but I think it looks like a mountain landscape, and dips exactly where I need it to. Art. Besides, within a month, a new windshield will absorb another smack, might as well let it join the six other bullet chips from semi-truck rockspray that I’m shocked haven’t spread. I check on them more regularly than I check my moles, which is never.

Eighteen years old and clocking in at 218,669 miles. That’s actually not bad for her age considering how many thousand mile road trips she’s taken across the country. And the guys at the dealership say she’s got another 200k in her. If you take care of her, she’ll take care of you. I think someone has told me that every time I bring her in. Actually not bad life advice either.

Everyone thinks they have more time. Sometimes you don’t, but we keep rolling along like we do anyway. What’s the point of having a palace on wheels if you don’t use it? She might be 18, but doesn’t look a day over eight (+1 for plastic bumpers). Just don’t examine her underbelly. Rust spreads like a disease, the inevitable result of Wisconsin winters and parking outside for half her life. That’s what the guys say is gonna get her in the end. She’s already got the making of a rust hole in the cabin. That’s okay, I tell them I remember sitting next to a rust hole as a kid on my way back from our only family reunion. Not back to my home, but to my cousin’s house like 200 miles away in Rockford, Illinois. We had just met for the first time, and we didn’t want to stop playing/being fascinated we had relatives, so sure, you and your sister go with your cousins, four or five of you can fit in the back. We’ll come get you…later. I think they liked that story.

I won’t lie. She’s starting to sound like age. I spend some time rationalizing the noise, that it’s okay, it’s just the sound of old, not the sound of something wrong. She wears matching duct tape holding crackly dry weather strips in place, regularly breaking loose in the wind, flapping for hours then silence. It’s a strange, rhythmic cycle. More duct tape binds an entire front driver side panel together. Everyone always says don’t maintenance your car at the dealer, they rip you off, but my guys told me replacing the panel would be wildly expensive and the voodoo blue duct tape looked cool. Badass. Like we’ve gone through things. I mean. Can confirm. We’ve gone through some things.

I say that to myself sometimes when I look in the mirror, nodding my head at my reflection. We’ve gone through some things. And then sometimes I take the next step and wonder why everyone my age seems motivated to stop the aging, not with duct tape but with lifts and botox and contouring. I make faces at myself. Frown. Smile. Now without teeth. Raise my eyebrows. Widen my eyes. Do the ugly face thing my sister and I used to do, the who can make the ugliest face, face. I stop making faces. A straight face. Ah. I see what they see. 

But like. How often am I just…straight-faced? When am I ever not feeling emotion? Not imprinting my existence onto someone, being imprinted if even for the smallest of seconds? Is that my primary concern? What I look like when I’m emotionless? How others see me straight-faced? How I see myself? And when I find myself with people in those places where my face is not making emotions, why do I care what they think about my face?

I turned 43 last weekend. My face, like my truck, has been places. We’ve seen some shit because we’ve had the luxury of time, and being one of life’s most luxurious of luxuries, we keep rolling through with intention. And we’re not concerned about our lines, we’re making them on purpose.