Starts with goodbye...

I left Huntington Beach early Wednesday morning, my car jam-packed with all of my earthly posessions, and began what will finish tomorrow afternoon as a 20-some hour drive, split into 3 days. Luckily, the traffic conditions were easy-breezy and I was cruising toward Nevada on the 15 before I knew it.

Trouble was, I kept seeing these pesky signs saying "I-15 closed ahead. Detour available." And of course, being dead set on driving up the so-called "closed" I-15, I kept on my merry way.

But as luck would have it, there in a town you'll never likely hear of again, there was the alleged detour in all its middle-of-nowhere glory. It began in Cima, where some greedy locals were charging nearly $5 a gallon for gas. I guess they figured we suckers didn't know how long this detour would last, and they weren't about to miss out on a killer day of sales. Fair enough.

I'll admit, I was a little bugged about the surprise freeway closure and the fact that we (meaning all of us driving north-bound on the I-15 that morning) were now driving down a rugged, two-lane highway in the middle of Mojave National Reserve.

But then I started to take it all in.

I don't know how many of you have ever driven through endless fields of snarly Joshua Trees, but it was unexpectedly breathtaking. The sun was shining, I wasn't in too much of a rush to get anywhere, and so I turned up my iPod, rolled down the window, and breathed in deeply. This, I decided, was exactly what I wanted -- I just didn't know it.

Long story short, we caravaning travelers finally caterpillared our way back to the 15, and I made it to Provo just in time for sushi with my long-lost college friends. It all worked out in the end.

Day two of my trip had a late start. I decided to forego setting an alarm clock, assuming I'd wake up naturally to the sounds of my best friend Holly and her roommates getting ready and leaving for the day. Unbeknownst to me, they're all either very, very quiet in the morning, or were just trying to be nice, and didn't make a peep. I woke up at 11am, shaking my head in disbelief. I left Provo an hour later, caught my friend Chelsi for lunch in Sandy by some small miracle of perfect timing and happenstance, and was on my way into Idaho before I knew it.

After being gone for 11 months, driving back into the state where you spent the better part of 23 years is a curious experience. I had no idea how beautiful the "Welcome to Idaho" sign would look. I had no idea I had missed those mountains.

And I'm freezing.

But I digress. The point is, just as I'm rolling back into the mother state, taken back a little by the familiar terrain and wide open spaces, a certain young woman by the name of Carrie Underwood was singing the words that my heart was aching to say:

I guess it's gonna have to hurt
I guess I'm gonna have to cry
And let go of some things I've loved
To get to the other side
I guess it's gonna break me down
Like falling when you try to fly
It's sad, but sometimes moving on with the rest of your life
Starts with goodbye

(Ok, so maybe I was listening to country music and maybe mentioning the lyrics is a little cheesy. I won't tell if you won't.)

The feeling was something like nostalgia with a side of bittersweet resolve. And for the first time since I left California, I teared up. Just a little. Surprising to me, I wasn't teary-eyed because I missed California already. That would be too easy. My tears, instead, were the manifestation of a little thing I'd like to call growing up.

Growing up means making hard decisions and sacrificing things we think are attractive or fun because the end result is much sweeter than our current situation. Growing up is learning how to listen carefully so the still, small voices aren't overpowered by the upset, confused ones we have to pacify.

And like my joshua-trees-in-the-mojave-reserve experience, we always get exactly what we want, but not necessarily in the way we expected. It will all work out in the end.

Idaho, I hope you're ready for me.