I just drove 8,981 miles in search of the place I belong.

It’s been awhile since I felt like I belonged anywhere, to anyone. Being on the road it occurred to me that maybe I’m not the only one who feels that way. And maybe I really belong to everyone, everywhere.

Maybe the open road and no plan are exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Traveling alone makes me feel sad when there’s nobody to share the white sands of Navarre or the backroads of Alabama with, but after 42 days, 15 states and more hotel rooms and vacation rentals than I can recall (along with some wild car camping stories), it’s amazing to realize that I spent a majority of that time with other people. People like me, scattered all over for all kinds of reasons. Friends in Idaho, Florida, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma and Kansas. Offspring in Alabama and Louisiana. Offers of spare rooms in Utah and Nebraska… I was rarely alone. Even while there were days that it felt like maybe nobody would know if I was dead or alive, I know I wasn’t forgotten, just a little bit gone.

I found a lot of places that I know I could be happy, at least for awhile. But I know deep down that the key to my happiness is the people I surround myself with and being able to contribute to their lives in a meaningful way.

Yesterday I heard someone say that we chose our purpose in life. I’ll know mine when I see it and that’s where I’ll belong. Maybe I’ll BE there a LONG time or maybe my LONGING to BE will finally be realized. Either way I’m grateful for the journey, and the big, beautiful open space that I belong to for now.