Road Trip: Invitation to Step Away

Preparing for an extended road trip through America’s small towns feels like an invitation to step away from the rush of daily life and into a slower, more deliberate rhythm. It’s not just about packing a bag or tuning up Josie—it’s about getting into the right mindset to fully embrace the journey ahead. I’ve always been drawn to the idea of exploring the roads less traveled, those winding highways that lead to places where life is lived at a different pace, where stories are told over diner counters, and where the past lingers just beneath the surface.

As I started planning this trip, I realized that it’s as much a mental journey as it is a physical one. Josie, an old companion, needed a thorough check-up—new engine, fresh transmission oil, a full tank of gas—but I found myself thinking more about the intangible preparations. I knew this wasn’t going to be a journey defined by destinations or schedules. Instead, I wanted to let the road guide me, to allow for detours and unexpected stops. I wanted to get lost, to take those turns just because the road looked inviting or because a hand-painted sign pointed toward something intriguing.

Packing for this trip is an exercise in simplicity. I left behind the clutter of my everyday life, choosing instead to bring only what I truly needed. A map, not the kind that glows on a screen, but one made of paper, creased from use and full of possibilities. Comfortable clothes, ready for both long hours behind the wheel and spontaneous explorations on foot. A camera, not just for the postcard-worthy moments, but for the small, quiet scenes that might otherwise be forgotten. And a notebook—because I knew that the real treasures of this journey would be the stories I’d collect along the way, the conversations with strangers who might become friends, if only for an afternoon.

I knew that the real treasures of this journey would be the stories
I’d collect along the way, the conversations with strangers who
might become friends, if only for an afternoon.

As I set out, I find myself thinking about the people I would meet. I’ve always believed that small towns are defined by their communities, by the people who choose to make their lives in these places where everyone knows your name, and where the local diner is a gathering place as much as it is a place to eat. I want to hear their stories, to learn about their lives, and to understand the quiet determination that seems to define these towns.

Leaving behind the comfort of everyday life won’t be easy, but as I drive further from the city, I felt a sense of calm settle over me. The road stretched out before me, open and inviting, and I know that the slower I go, the more I will see. There’s a beauty in the details of small-town America—the way the light falls on a dusty road at sunset, the sound of a church bell on a quiet morning, the sense of history that you can almost feel in the air. This trip wasn’t just about seeing new places; it’s about being present, about truly experiencing the world around me. And as I drive, I realize that this wasn’t just a road trip—it’s a journey to the heart of America, to the places where the extraordinary is found in the most ordinary of things.