Most years I latch onto something that resembles a resolution, or at least an idea—a framing, if you will, of the plot lines of my life. Typically, I choose something that’s a cross between delusional aspiration and hare-brained scheme. (Ex. Run a marathon, read Ulysses, stop swearing. Crap, there’s been some doozies.)

But not this year. 

I’m entering 2026 completely unencumbered by expectations. My approach is more like a rookie cowboy making his inaugural ride on the crankiest bull of the bunch—strap on and hold tight. 

In that spirit, we will soon be heading west.

As I mentioned previously, our kids came up with towns and cities which they thought we would like. I knit them together into a road trip; booked every single night until June first when we arrive in West Yellowstone, Montana; gathered up my road-trip reading list; and then set everything aside. 

For now, we have other fish to fry. 

We are in Charlottesville, Virginia. Doctor appointments are done and dusted. New eyeglasses are on order. Our belongings are strewn across our rental apartment awaiting assessment and (hopefully) purge. The car is fully serviced (Shout out to Pat; that would have never occurred to me). 

Provisions are piled in the pantry: a case of my favorite olive oil direct from Italy, packages of Rancho Gordo beans, bags of French lentils. We aren’t survivalists, but we are increasingly particular eaters—a challenge for a road trip which begins in the heart of hot chicken and biscuit country. 

With two feet of snow in the forecast this weekend, we will be burrowed in for a while. I will continue to plow through my stack of purchased-and-never-read books as we embrace these unscripted days.

Come February 20th, we will set course for city number one: Greenville, South Carolina. The next city on our list is New Orleans, but in the spirit of avoiding drives of more than three hours, we have a few overnight stops planned. After that, it is on to city number three—Fredericksburg, Texas—for four weeks. For now, let’s pause there in Texas hill country. 

I’m trying to purge my innate prejudices and embrace the open road with an open mind. This isn’t my strength. As I sit here and contemplate this challenge, perhaps I’ve found a goal: To sift through each day in search of the good bits, jot them down, and harden my memories.

If I were a more serious writer, I’d redo the opening. It appears that I do have a resolution. This year I will search for wonder: A beautiful sunrise. The perfect cup of coffee. A legit French bakery in some backwater town. A young cowboy in Hill Country who’s full of piss and vinegar and about to take his first ride. 

Let’s all hold on together. Happy trails.

Categories: Ruminations, The United States