I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep. Laying in bed in my hostel in Vancouver, I’m literally counting the dots on the ceiling tiles.
Tomorrow, my road trip ends. Well, not actually. Just, you know, metaphorically. For me.
If all goes well, tomorrow is the day Pappa Smurf (my little, blue hatchback) and I cross the Pacific Ocean on a ferry to Vancouver Island, and finally get to that Mile 0 monument, the beginning of the Trans Canada Highway. Tomorrow I make my dream of driving coast to coast across this great country come true. Tomorrow, I will finally see this thing through until its end.
But Mile 0 means so much more to me than that.
Mile 0 means I got myself unstuck in my life. It means I was drowning in misery, but I swam like fuck in the direction of my biggest and best dreams. Mile 0 means I stopped "tolerating" life, and created the life I wanted instead. Mile 0 means that I'm brave and strong, not because I’m unafraid, but because I drove into the unknown despite my fears, armed with faith in myself and in my resilience. Mile 0 means I chose my life, I didn’t settle for it. It means I proved the doubters wrong and it means I inspired others on the way. And, most importantly, Mile 0 means I did it. I actually fucking did it.
I packed my life into my car 10 months ago. Feels like yesterday. I can still see my mom waving goodbye from the porch as I drove away. I remember the feeling of merging onto
the highway with the rest of the morning traffic. “I’m free,” was all I could think. “I’m free.”
I’ve driven 12,109km (so far). I’ve met people who’ve changed me forever, and I’ve done things I never would have believed I’d do a year ago. I think that just means the best is yet to come
Mile 0. I’m having a hard time believing it. But I guess it’s not real until it happens.
So on that note, I’m off to bed. I don’t want to end this thing the way I started it; needing a power nap on a stranger’s farm in Buttfuque, Nowhere, because I didn’t sleep at all the previous night.