For a while, I’ve wanted to be anywhere but where I am. To be honest, life is hard right now, and has been for the last year and a half. And though I’m not packing up my life right now, being on the road helps.

Why does travelling capture my heart and imagination like it does?

The ideal way to travel might look different for you. Maybe it’s a cruise, or a round-trip flight to an all-inclusive, or hauling the RV to your favourite park for the season. But for me, it’s a road trip. And not super planned out, either. For me, the unpredictability of not knowing exactly where I’ll end up or where I’ll sleep is part of the adventure.

Last year, I stumbled across the vanlife community on YouTube. I’m definitely a wannabe vanlifer right now. This wasn’t my first trip sleeping in my car; it was actually my fourth. I’m getting better at it, of knowing what I need and don’t need, of how to pack my little overlanding rig, of figuring out how cooking and bathroom breaks and showers work while travelling. And while I drove, I kept feeling like I was looking for home, a place to belong, something to replace what I’ve lost.

With this trip, I had a rough idea that I wanted to make it up to Thunder Bay, on the far side of Lake Superior in Ontario, Canada. I’d never been that far north in my province. From the Toronto area, it’s about the same distance as driving to Florida, but with trees and rocks and moose, not theme parks and rockets and alligators. The roads are better than they used to be, and the longest stretch I drove through without gas stations was only about 200 kilometres.

The most exciting discovery was finding a polar bear sanctuary in Cochrane. I’d never seen polar bears before, and this place felt a bit like a real-life Jurassic Park, with the double layer of high, electrified fences. But the habits are large, and they home bears that can’t be released back into the wild, such as from zoos or breeding programs.

I also stretched myself physically on this trip. I went on a lot of hikes, including two of the most infamous ones in Ontario – The Crack, in Killarney, and The Top of the Giant in Sleeping Giant Provincial Park near Thunder Bay. This second one easily broke my personal hiking records, both for distance and for elevation change. It was a 23 kilometres round trip, climbing nearly 1900 feet, and took about 7 hours to complete. And it was all worth it for the moments of having my breath taken away by the beauty and giant-ness of the wild world.

Why is it that it’s so good for my soul to feel small? To be in awe at the bigness of the world and of the human experience? Why do the mountains and oceans drag my heart to them?

I ended up reaching Thunder Bay quicker than I’d expected. When I got there, I had this feeling of, “Well now what?” Now that I’d reached my destination, was there more to do other than just turn around and go back? I’d been so excited, so anxious to get this far, and when I did, there seemed nothing left to do but go back. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. But I think it made me realize that I didn’t need to rush. I could slow down. I could linger. I could take my time. I had at least three weeks to do this trip, so why was I rushing?

And so I slowed down. I stayed longer. I talked to people. I had a fire on a beach with a couple from France. I went to hardcore show in a dive bar. I met an 83 year old woman who’s named all the ducks and swans in a park in Sudbury. And I went for drinks and dinners with locals, pausing long enough to get to know someone a little bit. And what I discovered was that the richness of the trip was in the moments that strangers became friends.

On my first big road trip, which was in the late winter, driving through two ice storms on the east coast of the US and Canada, a friend of mine called it, “a true pilgrimage.” I like that. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, I am on a pilgrimage of sorts. Moving from where I was and who I’ve been into a new place. I don’t know the destination yet. I don’t know who I’ll be when I get there. But I know I need to make the journey.

The thing I’m finding most on the road is a new discovery of who I am, what I’m capable of, and maybe, just maybe, a bit of sense of where I’m going.

Being on the road gives me a sense of movement, especially when my life feels stuck. It stretches me: forces me to talk to strangers, forces me to problem-solve, forces me to enjoy experiences that aren’t through a screen. And when my life feels small or unchangeable or hopeless, a journey in physical space reminds me that a journey through mental or relational or emotional spaces is also not just possible, but inevitable. Life is not static, and neither are my problems. The road keeps going, there’s always more to discover, and no matter how much it rains or snows or hails, the clouds will always break, the sun will always come out again, and the road will always offer something new.