I drove from Canada to Arizona all by myself.

I have done it several times before, but every time I go, I question whether or not I will really be able to make it. I mean, that’s a long way to drive all by oneself (it took me 22 hours of driving time in the space of two days). What if my contact lenses don’t work for such long hours of driving? What if one pops out? What if I get drowsy and fall asleep at the wheel? What if I don’t time it right and run out of fuel on the side of the deserted highway and flag down a crusty truck driver for help and instead of helping me he actually rapes me and beats me to death with a tire iron and then rapes my dead body and leaves me for the vultures who eat out my eyeballs with their greedy beaks?

What if I fail?

I mean, I don’t think I’m the type of person who would get myself into such predicaments. I’ve proven before that I can complete the drive and complete it well. But for some reason, every time I decide to make the trip again, all confidence gained from previous experience flies out the window and I am left a quivering ball of self-doubt rocking in the corner.

But that’s no way to live, so I always get up and get going.

And I’m never sorry I did:

Driving through the Rockies in Montana.

Sunrise in the hills south of Saint George (this is always the part of the trip where I start to feel like I’m coming home).

The new bypass bridge under construction on the Hoover Dam.

And one of the many rewards upon a safe arrival.

The occasional extended road trip all by oneself is good for the soul, I’m convinced of it. It buoys the spirit, boosts the confidence, and rekindles the knowledge that life is manageable after all.

See you on the flip flop.

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