In the Pursuit of Joy
An exploration of contentment set over the course of a cross country road trip.
Written by Noah Harper
Bellingham to Seattle:
This short 1 ½ hour drive from Bellingham to Seattle acts as the prologue for the last road trip of the summer, setting the scene for daydreams to come.
It’s 9:30 p.m. on a Sunday night, and the endless stretch of I-5 South towards Seattle will feel like nothing by this time tomorrow. The soft glow of the dash mixed with the bright carbon copy highway lights creates the perfect atmosphere for contemplation.
I pull into my parents’ driveway at 11 p.m., excited for the grand adventure ahead of me, but fearing the feeling I’ll have when it is over.
Washington to Wyoming:
The mission is simple: drive one of my closest high school friends, Tali, to Nashville so she can start her new job at Sony. At a crisp 7:30 a.m., Tali picks me up in her sleek new Subaru, dubbed “Sally.” I am whisked away from my parents’ house and we head towards Liam, the crucial second co-pilot, and third musketeer of this close-knit trio.
We do a quick stop to fill our empty stomachs with the most nutritious meal for any road trip, McDonalds. We merge onto I-90 going east, while I envision the long journey ahead.
13 hours to Wyoming. A little more than four hours of driving each.
While still being quite sleepy, Tali takes the first shift and Liam dibs second, leaving me the night shift. That is all right with me, I like the peaceful night roads anyways.
As the first five hours slip by, I sit in the passenger seat as we listen to 4 ½ “Crime Junkies,” Tali’s favorite true crime podcast. She and Liam discuss the most recent case while my mind is anxiously adrift elsewhere.
I am already thinking about the end of the trip, and it has only just begun.
I am thinking about how unhappy I’ll be when I’m home again and summer is over. I am obsessing over how I can maximize my happiness.
“If I do enough things and see enough places, maybe I’ll be able to hang on to this happiness high,” says my inner monologue.
Hour nine rolls around and I am finally behind the wheel. We have stopped approximately 10 times for Tali to pee since leaving Sammamish. The sky is dark and there are no streetlights. It is as if I’m driving at the bottom of the ocean, alone on this Atlantean highway. By 2 a.m., we pulled into our motel parking lot in Green River, Wyoming.
Colorado to Missouri
In Fort Collins, we stayed at our old friend Hannah’s house, who I have not seen in over a year. She leaves for school a month earlier than the rest of us, so seeing her again is a treat.
The four of us pick up where we left off as if no time has passed. It is like I’m back in Sammamish again; back in high school. The fun times do not last forever, and before I know it we are on the road again.
This is a tougher goodbye than I expected; a sour reminder that all good things come to an end.
I look forward to Missouri as the next happy high to fill the sad valley I’m desperately trying to avoid. Fort Collins to Missouri is another 13-hour drive, but it feels twice as long as last time. It feels as if it’s just us and the road, as if we are the only three people from here to Mississippi.
Nashville
Nashville cleared the haze that clouded my brain. Between eating at as many fried chicken joints as we could, I began to see what I had been missing. That night, on the main streets of Nashville, I found contentment. During a night full of unforgettable moments, and near unmatchable sights, I realized the mistake I was making the whole trip.
In an overpriced hat and boot store, Tali stacked three of the finest hats she could find that would make any real cowboy jealous. I’m not worried about how the trip is almost over, and I probably will not ever be in this hat store again, because I am content. I am too focused on finding Tali a set of hats to match, and seeing if I can find one for Liam, because I am living the journey instead of fixating on the destination.
As we walked the main streets of Nashville, my peripheral vision was painted by neon signs and the passing crowds of people. The disorienting sound of so many bar bands, playing their songs at once, has no effect on my mental clarity.
I had never felt more in the moment, more appreciative of the time I have with the ones I cherish. These moments are valuable; they are once in a lifetime and I was lucky to experience them at all.
Nashville was where I gave in to the idea that when I get home to my small Bellingham room, it will not be as exciting as this and it’s possible I won’t be as happy as I am right now.
This whole road trip I’ve been obsessed with keeping this feeling — chasing it and chasing it from one state to another hoping to catch it and hold it forever. I now realize just how impossible that really is.
I look to Liam as he cracks another joke and to Tali who recoils in laughter. I found joy in the fact that I’ll miss my friends. I found joy that I will have memories to miss. While every road trip inevitably comes to an end, the memories are forever.
I no longer obsessively worry over what I will do to keep the momentum going, or how this will be the last time in a long time that I’ll be around these people. Now I embrace it. I embrace that all things come to an end and the endings can be sad. I found contentment under that clear sky night in Nashville.
I finally found joy.