The Lives We Leave Behind

“What about your job?”

“What are you going to do with your apartment?”

“How will you make money?”

“This is a crazy dream, not an actual life plan.”

This was all I heard when I told others about my plan. No one believed in me. According to everyone else quitting your job, breaking your lease, and buying an old camper van to tour the open roads to become a writer was an insane pipe dream. Not an actual plan for your life.

Their words cut deep. More than anything I needed some encouragement before I set out on this long journey. But wherever I looked there was no support to be found. Not even from my dad who had always been my biggest fan. My dad was the one who told me I could be a writer when I was in second grade. He always supported my writing. But when I excitedly explained my plan to him of hitting the open roads and showed him the 1987 Dodge camper van I was about to purchase, a look of concern crept across his tired face. It was not the reaction I’d hoped for. I expected my mother and my sisters to lecture me on the impracticality of the trip, but not my dad.

“Honey, are you sure you want to do this?” my dad asked with doubtful eyes.

“Yes, Dad, of course I’m sure. I’ve been thinking about this for years and I’m finally going to do it.”

“What about your job? You have such a comfortable job and a nice apartment.”

“Dad, all I do is answer phones and schedule appointments. And then after that fun is over I have to deliver food to ungrateful people just to afford my rent. I only get to write for an hour or so a night before I pass out at my laptop. If I’m ever going to be a professional writer, I have to do this.” I tried to convince him or maybe convince myself.

“Well, Honey, if more time and money to write is what you need, you could always move back home.”

My heart deflated like a balloon that someone poked a hole in. It felt like all these years I believed my dad supported me were a lie. Here I was telling him of my grand adventure to see the countryside and focus solely on my writing and he was telling me to move back home. Which was the last thing I wanted to do. There was no way I would be able to write a novel with my mother looming over me and trying to marry me off.

I left my parents’ house with my shattered heart, feeling less confident than I did when I first arrived. Trudging out to my car, I called for Gracie, my big baby of a dog. I opened the back car door for her before climbing in myself. She laid her big blocky head on my shoulder as she stood on the middle console. I patted her head as I felt the tears welling up.

Gracie licked my cheek. Peering into the eyes that expressed more emotion than most humans, I saw her belief in me radiating out.

“You know Gracie girl, you’re right. We can do this and we will.”

We pulled out of my parents’ driveway and headed for the used RV dealer.

An hour later my Honda was traded in for this beautiful camper van. Its paint was faded to a dull gray, the seats were worn out with small rips on the fabric, and the strong scent of too many vanilla air fresheners to hide the stench of weed penetrated my nose. Yep, this was my new home and I loved it.

With only a week left in my apartment I spent my time cleaning and personalizing the van. I covered the couch and seats in pretty flowered sheets. I placed a colorful rug over the beige carpet. I even hung up pictures of me and Gracie, and also a few inspirational quotes to keep me motivated. Corny I know. But sometimes when the only person who believes in you is a dog, you need a little extra support.

Finally the morning had come for me to hand in my apartment keys and hit the road. Even though my phone is well equipped with a map app, I packed the glove box with maps covering the west coast. I wanted to have an authentic old school road trip. The first state would be Montana and then we would decide from there where we should head next. Being from Oregon I have explored enough of this state and Washington, but I’d never been to the Wild West state of Montana. Something about its mountains and open plains called to me.

Feeling like Willie Nelson, Gracie and I loaded up into the camper van I dubbed as Greta. Don’t ask me why. It just fit her.

Even though the night before my family had tried to yet again talk me out of this “harebrained” idea, I felt more motivated than ever to take this leap of faith. I know it’s a crazy idea. Believe me I do. And that’s why I wrestled with it for so many years. But one night after getting home from another long day of being a receptionist and delivery driver and not living the life I had imagined, I crumpled to my knees and cried for over an hour in my doorway. I’d reached my breaking point. I believe that sometimes when you get shoved out onto a cliff, you just have to jump. It’s scary. Who knows what will be at the bottom. Maybe it’s jagged rocks and coursing river that will drown you in five seconds. But maybe it’s a trampoline that will skyrocket you even higher than you were before. I didn’t know what was at the bottom of this cliff, but I was ready to find out.

With Gracie riding shot gun and Johnny Cash singing out of the radio, we pulled away from not only my apartment, but also my former life.

“Alright, Gracie girl, you ready to do this thing?”

Gracie just thumped her tail. I smiled at her simple joy of just being along for the ride. I took a deep breath and put Greta in gear.

The first few days were a little rocky. Greta and I had to get acquainted. Thank God for YouTube videos on how to fix basic camper van issues like replacing sparkplugs and adding oil. But eventually we made it to Missoula, MT.

It was like nothing I had ever seen before. The wide open spaces with the mountains rising high above. I could almost see the faint outline of cowboys of the past riding along the expansive land. Getting out the van along the highway, Gracie and I both took in a deep breath of freedom and fresh air and let the sun warm our faces. We had made it to our first stop. My confidence was already growing.

That night at the campground as Gracie snored next to me, I flipped open my laptop. For the past few days along our journey I had been taking notes of things I smelled, heard, saw, and felt. I know all of these minute experiences would create a grand story when put together. My fingers flew across the keyboard as the story continued to expose itself to me. The story was nothing I had planned to write, but after seeing this cowboy country and listening to Johnny Cash for the past 500 miles, I knew I was the writer to tell this story.

My story would be about a young woman in the late 1800’s who dreams of being a cowboy. She wants to rope cows, explore the land, and live in the great outdoors. But being a woman of the time, everyone repeatedly laughed in her face as she told them about her dream of being a cowboy. The townspeople and even her own family told her to find a nice young man to marry and stop all this nonsense of being a cowboy. But one night as she walks around her father’s property she sees a ghostly cowboy riding a horse with flames for hair, and decides to follow him. Based on that one decision to follow a phantom her life would change forever.

I saw myself in this young woman, I was going to call her Greta, after my own dream I was chasing. As I sat on the stiff couch covered in a pink flowered sheet with a dog snoring by my side, and drinking a cup of coffee, I felt like a real writer for the first time in my life. I might not have much money, family support, or any promise of a successful future, but at least I was a writer.

I went to sleep that night feeling completely content which hadn’t happened since I was child and unaware of the heartbreaks of living.

The next morning I was fired up to take on the world yet again. I couldn’t wait to drive further into Montana and get more inspiration for my story. I munched on my bagel, drank my coffee and mapped out the rest of our day’s travel. I was feeling so bold I decided to give my dad a call to tell him how wrong he’d been about my trip.

Ring! Ring!

“Hello?”

Hearing my dad’s voice all of sudden made me like a small child again. I wanted to impress him, but the pressure of expectation was smothering me.

“Hey Dad, I just wanted to give you an update on my trip,” I squeaked. I looked to Gracie for comfort, but she was happily eating the remaining half of my bagel.

“Alright, Honey. How’s it going?”

I could hear the pity and concern in my dad’s voice. My confidence was rapidly crumbling. My throat felt scratchy like I hadn’t taken a sip of water in days.

“Well, Gracie and I made it to Montana.”

“That’s great. You didn’t have any trouble with the van?”

I had had a bit of trouble in the beginning, but since I managed to fix those hiccups, I decided a little white lie wouldn’t hurt.

“Nope, it’s been running great. And seeing all this beautiful country has really inspired my writing. I wrote over 10,000 words last night!”

“Good for you, Sarah. Just remember if you have any troubles you can always come home.”

His words stung. I hadn’t expected him to applause my news, but I thought he’d be a little more excited for me. He must truly think this is a ludicrous idea. My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach.

“Do you want to know what my new story is about?” I weakly offered. This was my last attempt to try to prove I’d done the right thing. If my dad heard how great my new story was, he would have no choice but to support me.

“I’d love to Honey, but I don’t have time right now. Your mom and I are going out to brunch with Jimmy and Elise. Maybe you can tell me about it later.”

I could feel the tears planning their escape. “Okay, no problem. I’ll talk to you later. Have fun at brunch.”

As I hung up the phone, my tears poured out, finally free. I instantly became a mess. My eyes were bloodshot, my cheeks were red, my nose was running, and the tears continued to fall. Gracie even took a break from sniffing around for more bagels to lay her blocky head on my lap to comfort me.

I don’t even know how long I sat there and cried for. I cried until I had no tears left. I was all dried up. I wiped my sore eyes and patted Gracie’s head.

“This was a good idea right, Gracie? You think it was, right?”

Gracie just stared back at me.

I hoisted myself up and plopped down in the driver seat. With tearstained cheeks, I was going to continue on my journey. What else could I do?

I stuck the key in the ignition and turned. Nothing happened. I cranked it again, and still nothing happened. Panic started to prickle up the back of my neck.

“Oh come on, Greta, please start!” I wailed as I tried to fire her up again. But still she didn’t so much as sputter.

“This can’t be happening!” I leaned my head on the steering wheel as my cheeks became flushed with frustration.

I decided to try one more time, surely ole Greta wouldn’t let me down. We’d already made it this far. I turned the key one more time. Nothing.

This new defeat broke me. I slammed my hands on the steering wheel and words that would have made a sailor blush flew out of my mouth. It was too much, it had all been too much. The phone call with my dad and now this. I couldn’t take it and I couldn’t stand to be in that stupid van one more second.

I clipped Gracie’s leash on her, grabbed my back pack with my notebook, and jumped out of the van. Anger, desperation, frustration, and worst all self-loathing bubbled inside of me.

How pathetic had I been to believe I could really do this? How stupid was I? Maybe I should just go home. I’m not even that good of a writer. No one wants to read a book about a woman and a ghostly cowboy.

All these hateful thoughts soared through my mind. No one could have made me feel worse than I was. It’s sad how often times we are our own worst bullies.

As Gracie and I trudged on, not having any idea where I was going, I stared at the ground, refusing to hold my head high. I decided as soon I could get Greta running I would head back for Oregon. Everyone was right, this was a dumb idea and I should just go home.

I didn’t know how far we walked or what we were even passing. My down turned eyes were fixated on the ground below me. I wanted it to open up and swallow me whole. But even that was a disappointment. No crack in the earth holding all the other pathetic people opened up. So I trudged on.

Gracie started to tug on her leash, which she rarely did. She’s a calm dog who typically prefers to walk next to me. But her gentle tugs became full blown pulling. I had to hang on with both hands to keep her secured to me.

“Damn it, Gracie! What’s the matter with you?” I yelled as my frustration grew.

I finally looked up to see what was so important to Gracie that she had to drag me to it. What I saw stopped me in my tracks. Gracie happily returned to my side and sat down, her job was done.

The view that lay out before me was unworldly. It was heaven on earth. The sky was the color of cotton candy blue; the sun was shining like a proud diamond over the terrain at my feet. I didn’t realize we had been walking uphill, I was so focused on my own self-hatred. But now standing at the ledge of this small cliff, I saw the world for miles. Lush, green pastures; proud mountains in the distance; cows happily grazing; trees blowing in the gentle breeze. It was so mesmerizing I felt like I must be in a dream. No way was life actually this incredibly breathtaking.

Standing at the cliff, I looked out and saw my future. A wide smile took over my face as the sun stroked my cheeks and the wind danced in my hair. Gracie thumped her tail. She knew it too. We could do this. I could do this. I was not going to give up.