The day was a bright and sunny day, the kind of May day that was a reward for withstanding April showers. A nice, mild spring day, the kind of day that would be great to play hooky and not go to work. The quintessential day that sent an epidemic of spring fever among the busy working people. Tulips in our yard had just bloomed, waiting to be observed, the test to see if you were rushing too much or noticing what was around you.

     Normally, on a day like this I'd sit in the backyard reading, my husband looking through electronic magazines and other catalogs. Or we'd take a day trip to one of the local parks. A nice day to just kick back and do nothing. Today we were going on a trip. Except it wasn't going to be a leisurely day going to the nearby beach with a picnic lunch. We were getting ready to go on a month long trip, taking us across approximately ten thousand miles of road, from our home on Long Island near the Atlantic coast, to the entirety of the Pacific coast from San Diego to Seattle, and back. Yet while packing the van to get ready to go, the concept that we were embarking on such a journey seemed so surreal that it felt as though we were going away just for a weekend. My mind had no frame of reference to contemplate what I was about to do. I might as well have been telling myself that I was going on a trip to outer space. It seemed just as believable.

     Not that this was the first time I had left my environs. We'd bought the van that we would be traveling in three years earlier, just after the passing of my father. We'd been mostly to Florida, to visit my in-laws. But now, we were breaking away from the family vacations. We were treading upon unknown territory, very much like the kid who embarks upon a college career after living with his parents his whole life. We were leaving home.

     The idea of taking a trip around the country really was a desire to just go and leave everything behind, but also to see what was ahead. It was a means of catching up to life, to teach myself that there was something than my own personal dramas, and other ways to live than what had told to me but didn't make sense. It didn't matter where I went. I just wanted to go. I wanted to see what was going on, not staying in what seemed like a hole that was swallowing me up. I wanted to travel so I could get my bearings stronger, to discover what this world was around me. Staying put, I only heard my own reality as truth. I needed to go and find more.

     Of course, for us to be on the trip, we would actually have to leave. In a way it was a hard to do, because once we were gone, we would be gone for good for a whole month. Of course we could always turn back any time we wanted to, but the further we ventured, the less likely this would happen. Leaving was the hardest part, because in a lot of ways, it would just be easier to stay at home.

     There were a whole bunch of excuses to stay, the weather being one of them. It was really nice out, so why would we want to go anywhere? Instead, we would be driving on the Long Island Expressway, the home of the Extreme Commuter. Of course we had deliberately waited until the end of traditional rush hour, but on Long Island, that generally didn't mean anything. New York City was only thirty miles away from where we lived, but in commuting time, that generally translated into two hours one way, ninety minutes on a good day. Hey, we could do plenty of traveling around here. Just getting to work was an adventure.

     But the itch to travel had gotten into me. Staying home would sort of cancel out all things in my mind as far as my adventurous streak, and I was sick of sitting around the suburbs worrying about whether my yard would measure up to the neighbors' standards. If I stayed home, I would be letting myself down. Any future travel plans would be shucked, for if we chickened out now, why wouldn't we later?

     So, it was time to say goodbye. I observed each tulip, knowing that I wouldn't have much opportunity to do it again this year. We had some extra bulbs which our Cairn terrier MacGyver on our Jacuzzi seemed to think were intended as some kind of toy for him. So as a joke, placed the dog on our Jacuzzi, and threw the bulbs at the ground so he'd chase them. We caught the moment where he lunged off the whirlpool on film. It was like he'd cornered a squirrel.

     And with that, we were ready to go. We called MacGyver over to us, and closed up the gates. We were on our way, and as soon as I got into the van and closed the door, I knew that I would never see where I lived exactly the same way again.