This time last year…
I was in a job I loved for over 17 years, I lived in an apartment I adored for 15 years, and was on the same great career trajectory that I had been on since college.

Now, one year later…
I resigned from my job, got evicted from my apartment (in the nicest possible way) and decided I needed to take some time for God and me to figure out what the next chapter in my life will look like.

To be clear,  I am not homeless  (stand down, Mom) I left a few books and some clothing in the guest room at my folks, with whom I also left my beloved Toby dog. But the rest was packed into climate controlled storage by professionals clearly skilled in the game of furniture tetris.  With the exception of a few things I sold, all of my possessions, all that represented my 40-something life, fit into a single 10’x10′ room. I am still not sure what I feel about that.

So I’m hitting the road…

I love history and I love to travel,  however I am a hack at both. To be honest I’ve only been on three bonafide road trips in my life.  The first when I was 9 and my parents rented an RV dragging us up and down the east coast on a Great American History Tour – which my sister and I quickly renamed as the Please-Not-Another-Colonial-Village Tour.  The second was when a friend from church and I drove from San Francisco to Chicago in my old hand-me-down-down-down 1977 Jeep Wagoneer for my senior year of college. We ate apples and peanut butter to stay on budget, prayed fervently every time the Jeep (the Heap as we called it) took any kind of hill, and were subject to stares and a few racial slurs at a Burger King in South Dakota (did I mention my friend was African-American?) Yeah, that was disappointing, America.

The last road trip was my favorite. After graduation, my sister flew out to join me in limping the Heap back home to San Francisco. It was hot, and peak tourist season, and our budget allowed for little more than my first trip. But we had the best time. We cried for love of country at the lighting of Mount Rushmore, gasped as cowboys were thrown at the Cody Night Rodeo, and bet how many Winnebagos we could get to pull over in Yellowstone Park if we stood on the side of the road pointing into the woods (the answer was eight)  We celebrated the 4th of July in a small town in Idaho, performed several complete musicals driving through the wasteland that is eastern Nevada and pulled into San Francisco filled with memories (and relief) and vowing to do another road trip as soon as possible.

Then came Real Life Responsibilities.

Which brings us to now.  For over a year the creative work at my job had become less and less compelling and combined with losing my rent controlled apartment in San Francisco, the thought of getting back out on the road seemed like a great idea.

I never took a gap year – that year European kids take to travel the world before they enter university – so I guess I’m taking mine now.

Because really, taking a gap year sounds much more wistful than a mid-life crisis.