My thirty-something crisis road trip across the U.S.

I had some qualms about spending six weeks with my boyfriend traveling via Kia Spectra from Atlanta to California and back again. Spontaneity is not my strong suit. I find security in the routine. And I’ve always been more fascinated by the idea of traveling than the physical act. I want all the benefits of global citizenship with none of the inconvenience. I like my bed. I like my hound dog. I like not having to live out of plastic bags.

Still, I’ve wanted to do this for 10 years or more. Ever since my good friend from college, Betsy, decided to take a semester off from studying hard-core biology to travel cross-country in a beater car with a friend of a friend. Many of our mutual friends thought she was crazy and would never be back to graduate. I was jealous because she had the balls. (Incidentally, she met her future husband on that trip and graduated only a few semesters after I did). No permanent scars.

Still, I buried this life goal along with the rest (living abroad for a year, writing a book about the death of customer service, ending animal cruelty).

Until I turned 30. I was fading.

So, I approached George (my boyfriend of three years), about going on an adventure to learn about American culture--the ties that bind us--and to clear my head of all the noise and find some direction—any direction, why can’t I just pick a direction already! Basically, I was looking to escape. I grow bored easily—of people, places—so I like to stir things up. The first few weeks are usually bliss.

The timing was right George was quitting his plum reporting job to get an MBA. I found part-time work writing about consumer electronics. I figured I would just freelance the rest.

As I said, I like traveling—in theory. As the date approached, I panicked. I began throwing out excuses, hoping one would stick. I was battling indigestion, a cold, worried about traveler’s insomnia and our beagle hybrid, Ernie, who could plunge into doggie depression while George’s mother was housesitting. I was killing myself trying to finish a set of Atlanta tours for National Geographic, avoiding getting mugged in the process. No time to plan. We had secured housing (in college dorms) in Nashville, Chicago and San Francisco, but the rest was murky. I ordered a GPS overnighted, bought a copy of “Road Trip USA,” and dived in. One week at a time, I repeated to myself.