Driving around in a van and camping by myself in lands unknown offers surprisingly little time for reflection and I was, mostly, relieved to find that out. My goal at the beginning was to get out of my comfort zone and force myself to live in the moment, any moment that wasn’t one that I had been stuck in for the last five years. When I left home, I was in the midst of losing my boyfriend, my company and my family and it felt like I was trying to sip a cup of tea on the lido deck of the Titanic. The idea of getting up and grabbing a lifeboat seemed a good one and I started to romanticize the openness and grandeur of the West. I wanted to go somewhere that made me feel humble, not humiliated; where screwing up was OK (and expected) because I could allow myself as many do-overs as I pleased knowing that any consequences would only be my own, with no outside judgment.

My choice really couldn’t have been more perfect. Living in the moment is a snap when each moment is one of refreshing newness, of just surviving. I pull over when it is too beautiful not to. I eat when I’m hungry. I sleep when I’m tired. When I start to think about the past or the future, there is a sea lion just around the corner that is guaranteed to push the thoughts right out of my head.

There will come a time when I will have to face the wreckage of my past, accept it and plan for my future, but that time is not right now, not right at this moment. This moment is for the giant Sequoias I am surrounded by as I write.