I didn’t know when we packed the car in the summer of 1988 that I’d still be feeling that trip all these years later. Aviva and I had a plan, a route, some maps, and a stretch of time to see the country before everything else kicked in. What I didn’t realize then was that those weeks on the road with her would reroute everything. That trip, that time, changed how I see the world, how I live, and how I love. It made movement feel like home. And lately… I’ve stopped moving.
We stayed in motels, pitched the tent, crashed with friends. We argued. We got lost. We listened to Bad Company’s 10 from 6 and UB40’s Labour of Love far too many times. But somewhere between New Orleans and North Dakota, I caught a glimpse of something I’ve been chasing ever since, the road itself. The feeling of motion. Of being untethered. Of becoming someone new a little more with every mile.
That trip didn’t just show me the country. It opened the door to a version of me I didn’t yet understand and she kept holding space for that version long after the trip ended. Through years, through changes, through life. Her presence shaped the way I move through the world, and even now, she’s still with me.
Although she wasn’t still by my side, her voice, her way of seeing things, her humor… it’s all still in me. She’s still with me. That trip didn’t just show me the country. It showed me who I could be. And she was the first person who made space for that version of me.
And now that I’ve stopped for a while, I realize how much of her is still in the way I move.
I know where I’ll be going next. But for now, I’m here. Sitting still-ish. Remembering. And grateful for her, and the road she showed me.
