As a kid, our family of seven regularly folded ourselves into our hierarchical territories in the station wagon and took off on a road trip to a campsite or the grandparents. Car trips with young, restless kids are predictable: potty breaks, snacks, imaginary forcefields and demilitarization zones between sibling seats. And the common refrain of are we there yet?
Sandwiched between bored, mildly hostile teenaged sisters, a single hour can seem like four. the distance between A and B unfurling like an endless spool of ribbon. When are we gonna get there? How much longer? This was before miniature movie screens dropped down from the minivan ceiling, when the word scroll meant an ancient piece of parchment.
We watched the scenery slide by, played surprisingly competitive games involving license plates, and begged our father to play “funny songs” on the 8-track. This was the sole album of kid tunes we owned, and it included lyrics like “Be kind to Your flat-footed friends; every duck may be somebody’s mother.” Barney and the Wiggles would’ve been a dream come true for our parents.
Maybe there’s some perverse element in wanting to replicate such experiences for my own children? Like the reason military recruits and medical school residents are put through the same grueling training regimens as their predecessors. (If I had to suffer, you should, too.)
Curiously, when I remember my childhood trips, only a handful of campsites or arrivals spring to mind. The clearest and fondest moments are instead things we did on the way.
Singing in harmony with my mother doing bass notes from the front seat. The thrill of getting truckers to blow their horns at us when we pumped our arms frantically each time we passed one. My brother and I making forts among the luggage in the “back-back” of the car. Using one of my sleeping sisters as a footrest while she rode on the “floor hump.” Seeing if you could take a breath in the rushing wind with your head hanging out the window. Mandatory seatbelt laws ruined all the fun.
The same is true with my own kids. We’ve logged a lot of miles seeing all fifty states. What do they remember? Stopping randomly along the way in Oregon to explore tide pools, racing ahead of a hailstorm in South Dakota, sneaking into a wind field in Iowa and listening to the whump whump whump of giant blades turning high above, an overnight train to D.C. from Atlanta.
We were not without conflict. Stop touching me. Mom, she’s looking at me. He ate all the crackers! Honey, weren’t we supposed to turn back there? My father would get antsy each time we stopped, the thought of all the cars he’d passed whizzing by the rest area while we attended to six bladders driving him crazy. As the miles disappeared behind us, he’d tire of our bickering and the ominous “dad elbow” would rest on the back of the front seat, which we knew was within striking distance if we didn’t knock it off.
I lost track of how many times we told our kids “we’ll get there when we get there.” How often we encouraged them to just look out the windows and see. You might never be back here again, we’d say. We’d have to pull them out of their technology stupors. “Look,” we’d urge. “You’re missing it!”
Isn’t that an apt way to look at things? In so many ways, I find myself in the backseat of that station wagon, restless and impatient. Anxious to get there already, whatever that means, kicking the driver’s seat in frustration. Are you with me? We drum our fingers, jiggle our feet, and heave loud, exasperated sighs. How long is this gonna take, we moan, until we finally “arrive” and life-as-we-want begins.
How long until we reach that financial goal, lose the weight, graduate or land the job? How long until we’re done with fertility issues or chemotherapy, finished grieving, or healed from a childhood wound? When will my kids appreciate me? When will my spouse and I remember why we liked each other? Are we there yet? Can we just be there, already?
In 2020, maybe especially in 2020, we recognize our fellow travelers like we did those familiar road-weary families at the rest stops. They’ve got the same pillow lines on their faces, the same tousled static hair and stiff joints. Maybe we passed them five miles back, made faces as we overtook them, and now we’re nodding sheepishly as they pile out of their SUV. Maybe we help them tie down their trailer load so they can make it to the next exit in one piece.
We give each other tips. You want to watch out the next couple miles–construction coming up. Look at the radar–we’re heading into a stretch of storms. We’ve been through here before; next few miles are a speed trap, so keep your foot light.
Some tried and true road trip tactics are available to relieve our restless hearts from their push to arrive and be done.
Run. Burn off that excess energy and do something active. At rest stops, we were not allowed back in the car until we’d run around the perimeter of the building at least twice. All that extra breathing got our blood pumping and gave us a boost to endure.
Rest. Listen to the tires on the pavement and let go. Take a nap. Sit on the porch swing. Soak in a hot bath. Still your racing thoughts, unhunch your shoulders and breathe deep for an hour or a day. Whatever it takes.
Sing. Make it fun. You don’t even have to have an 8-track for this. Turn up the music and dance. Eat dessert for dinner. Dress up in something silly and go visit a friend. Stop taking yourself (or your situation) so seriously. Stick your head out the window and feel the wind in your hair.
Look. You’re missing it! That destination we want so badly to reach isn’t all there is. When you get there, it’s human nature to already be looking toward the next thing. On your way to graduation, forgiveness, financial peace or meeting the goal, don’t miss the rest of it. Even if the World’s Largest Peanut (metaphorically speaking) wasn’t on your bucket list, what will it hurt to have a look? Most of us have it pretty darn good, all things considered. We shouldn’t be too eager to shrug that off in our haste to get on with it.
While we might occasionally glimpse the stink-eye in the rearview mirror, God gives us a lot of grace along the way like those special snacks and games that parents reserve just for such a time. Quit kicking the seat and being impatient with the progress. Sometimes it’s a quick trip and sometimes there’s an outright travel ban and we sit tight until things get moving again. Either way, relax. We’ll get there when we get there.
