Let's light this candle

I've always wanted to be a free spirit – a devil-may-care, hears-only-the-call-of-the-road, get-off-the-motorcycle-without-a-trace-of-helmet-hair kind of girl. Someone who sets out for an adventure not caring that she might be in Belize when the rent money runs out. Who could really live the "it's the journey not the destination" kind of life without sounding like a complete jackass. You know the type: Thelma, Louise, a young Che Guevara and Ewan McGregor all contained in a curvy package that looks good in well-worn leather.

I'm not. I like a certain amount of order alongside what could only be described as semi-controlled chaos. I'm not a big planner, but my need for some kind of control has driven me to obsessively vacuum, purge clothes and trash and rearrange furniture for the past few weeks despite the fact that a) Clean is a relative term and b) Rick's idea of clean probably doesn't extend to washing the shower curtain (by the way, the vacuum motor burned out last night, so we gotta stop at Target during the Ikea run, Rick). It's all part of my not-so-subconcious attempt to anticipate at least part of how this next phase of my life – our lives – will unspool.

As a newbie to the cross-country trip and a believer in the Springsteen-fueled open-road-as-savior, redemption-beneath-this-dirty-hood poem, I'm buying in. In the hopes of not becoming Clark W. Griswold, I will not keep one eye on the clock hoping to beat the estimated drive time on Mapquest. I will embrace road snacks, sample a few of Texas's 63 greatest tacos, decide which state has the worst drivers, and take a step toward satisfying the wanderlust that I sometimes wish I lived by.

Mostly, though, I'm ready to start this adventure. For months Rick and I have been jaunting back and forth across the country, counting days between visits, scouring travel web sites for the best fares, and racking up frequent flyer miles. And for months we've been talking about this trip – this big move. Up to now, time together has meant a few blessed uninterrupted days absent concerns about work, then returning to the place where my job is and my stuff lives, a couple of hours away from most of my friends. This time, when we get back, I'm – we’re – coming home.

Rick's leaving Los Angeles, even for a set duration, is a big deal. Even with the things he says he won't miss, it's a hard place not to love – and it will be tough to be away from his amazing friends. Reading his posts the past couple of days, I realize that I have no tearful goodbyes. Sure, I’ll miss being able to wander around the house wearing embarrassing T-shirts and having unbrushed teeth, and regularly staying at the office until 8 pm. But these are small sacrifices. What I’ve really got is just a hopeful hello. And a promise to come back.

My road songs playlist is assembled; my boarding pass is printed.

In the words of Mercury astronaut Alan Shepard in The Right Stuff (played by Scott Glenn, who incidentally, I'm ashamed to admit, rocks a mesh T-shirt in Urban Cowboy), let's light this candle.

It's time to hit the road.