Most employees working at Cypress have lived in our area for all of their lives. They have parents, grandparents, and extended family who found their roots in rural Tennessee and have remained here ever since. Many of our readers have a similar experience. My family, on the other hand, does not have the same type of history. Born in Bartlett, I’ve moved from state to state every couple of years because of my father’s job. I’m a nomad who settles down, then packs up every year or so to relocate to the next place on the map. Only recently when my family moved to Arlington did I enter West Tennessee as a resident and citizen. I’ve been welcomed warmly, and I understand how Cypress’s motto of ‘Real People. Real Places. Real Tennessee.’ plays into every aspect of daily life. There’s an acceptance here that I struggled to find elsewhere, especially in the big cities where I lived.

However, something was still missing. It wasn’t with the town I live in, because the people around me are kind, considerate, and empathetic. Rather, the problem was with my perspective and my identity. For so long my environment has changed, so I haven’t had the time to completely understand the world in front of me. After graduating high school, I was stuck trying to figure out how to discover the deeper understanding so many people have about their community and their stance within their town, family, and life. And like every other angsty teenager, I craved independence. Because travel has been a huge part of my life, I wanted to find my freedom through one of the United States’s greatest symbols: The Great American Road Trip. An idea found in many movies and TV shows, like National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, road trips provide the perfect space for spontaneity and change. With less than a month’s notice, I planned my trip and prepared to journey up the East Coast to the town of Portland, Maine to change my outlook.

The night before my trip, I stuffed my clothes, shoes, and toiletries into my duffel to throw into the trunk of my car. One quick drive  to the store later and I had enough snacks to last much longer than the week on the road. I bought paper maps and made a great playlist of songs and podcasts to keep me content throughout the twenty-one hour journey.

On my first day I drove through Tennessee, stopping only for food and gas. Arriving in Harrisonburg, Virginia, I was relieved to finally leave my car and sleep. I woke up the next morning for another day’s drive. While the sun rose, the sky became a gorgeous pastel palette of orange, pink, and purple, coloring the clouds and illuminating the road. Two hot air balloons drifted in the distance, accompanying me through my exit to the outskirts of Harrisonburg.

Hours later when I crossed the Maine border from New Hampshire, a dense fog enclosed my car. A ‘Watch for Moose’ sign cautioned me to keep an eye out for anything suspicious on the road. I reviewed my itinerary once I got into Portland and decided what I was going to do on my first full day in the town. The next morning, I ventured over to a small coffee shop, where I ordered a coffee and watched the cars drive by. Once I finished my breakfast, I headed out to the ‘Bug Light’, one of Portland’s beloved lighthouses. Summers in Portland are not like summers in Tennessee. I sat next to lighthouse in seventy degree weather, hearing the tide hit the rocky landscape which guarded the park from the boats and ships floating through the sea. Besides the sound of the ocean tide, it was silent.

The next days of my trip followed the same routine of waking up with the sun and dashing to another quaint coffee shop before heading out on another excursion. I visited local businesses which thrived on the culture of Portland, and read novels in parks overlooking the ocean. I bought dresses from thrift stores and admired New England style houses. I spoke with strangers who had had an eerily similar experience to me. They wanted something new, and moved to Maine to find it.

On the way back, I stopped in one of the many towns I used to live in. When I was six, I called Sandusky, Ohio my home. Sprawling green farmland creates much of the landscape, but the real highlight is the amusement park, Cedar Point. I pulled into the driveway of a friend’s house whom I hadn’t seen in almost a decade. But it felt as though it had only been a couple days since I had been to Sandusky, because we didn’t miss a beat in catching up in conversation. She and another friend drove me to a small pizza restaurant as they quizzed me on what I remembered about the town before going out to get some ice cream.

I had another eleven hours of driving to make it back to Arlington. After six days of being away, I was ready to sleep in my own bed. Settling into my car, I spent Saturday driving through Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee, following the mile markers as they slowly approached zero, telling me I was at a state line. I eventually pulled into my driveway, eager to see my dog (and my family, of course). The magnitude of the journey I had just taken didn’t hit me quite yet. I unpacked my bags and flipped through my camera reel, reflecting back on the past week.

Even in small towns, we tend to get caught up in daily commotion and sometimes fail to take a step back. Through the rush of exams, jobs, internships, and life, the past year never gave me a chance to relax. Moving from place to place to place made me closed-off, and having space to think was not possible in all of the chaos. It just took me one thousand miles and hitting the coast to figure out what I needed.