"There was no reason to stay with anyone who despised my passion, spirit, or who I was on the inside. I wasn’t merely free now because I was newly divorced and embarking on a cross-country move, I was free because I wasn’t frightened by the journey or the unfamiliar, mysterious destination. I was free to write a new chapter and to live my life on my terms - starting with this road trip." Today is a special day. On April 15, 2010, I embarked upon a journey toward the US Southwest from icy New England that changed my life forever – and for the best. Newly divorced and fleeing a lonely life in a small Massachusetts town, a brief yet serendipitous trip to the Sonoran desert for a conference turned on a light within and I made a solemn decision to uproot my life and move to Arizona. I set my sights on finding “home,” a place where I could feel whole, loved, and at peace after years of a failure of a post-war reintegration after my deployment to Iraq in 2004-2005. The home that my soul thirsted for, ached for, was somewhere out there, and I had every intention of making it. My dried up spirit longed for the refreshment and rejuvenation that the desert so willingly provided. It didn’t sound very conventional to others in my family, who apparently thought I was crazy to have left a desert in Iraq filled with madness to move to another unknown, unpredictable desert where I didn’t know a soul. Instinctively, I felt that in order to become whole again, I would need to completely immerse myself in the journey, the new and embrace this chapter in my life with a determined, keen curiosity. Like driving down a desert highway in Iraq, I was eagerly searching for signs. Now is the winter of my discontent. As you embrace the new, you become dissatisfied with the old. Your comfort zone, stasis, is death. It’s all too easy to come back to a place where everyone looks, acts, and thinks like you – the you that existed before the world fell apart. That’s exactly what I didn’t want. I intuitively knew that my comfort zone would kill me, so I began my drive from Massachusetts to Florida, then the journey would take me from Jacksonville down Interstate 10 to Phoenix, Arizona. The night before leaving, I stretched out on my inflatable mattress in my recently emptied apartment and wrapped myself in a blanket I bought in Iraq. It was indigo and incredibly warm; so warm you felt like you were back in the womb. I was so ridiculously happy and at peace. I was finally leaving a place that had given me so much heartache and disappointment, a place that felt so cold in the soul. While I was thankful for the kind people I’ve met here along the way, I was also very weary of the dense population of flag-waving sociopaths and bigots in my vicinity who made my stay unbearable. Six years ago on this day, I woke before sunrise to place a few items on the street corner to be collected, extra decoration and foodstuffs. When I came back for another drop-off, the first pile was already gone. I placed what little remaining items I had left in my apartment – clothes, books, and my laptop bag – into my little silver 2002 Kia Spectra, which filled up the space so much that I couldn’t see out of the back and barely through the passenger window. The plan was to place everything I would take into the hotels with me at night on the front seat for easy access, which was a large black Army backpack and my laptop bag, while the rest of my belongings were hidden under my Iraqi indigo blanket or in the trunk. I was ecstatic. With an open mind and an open heart, I set out on the open road toward the unknown in Arizona. As soon as I started my poor little car, heavy with everything I owned and had left to my name, I felt the butterflies kick in, but I didn’t let myself get too excited. No, I was waiting to cross the border from Massachusetts into Connecticut to do that. There were still little patches of snow on the ground as I drove away from Gardner and on down past Worcester. As I crossed the Connecticut border on highway 84, I threw up my middle finger and let out a scream of joy. This wasn’t my home, and it never was. I never quite fit in or belonged to this place, but the breakdown of my farce of a marriage did, in fact, propel me forward in making such a bold decision. Deep down, I knew why my ex-husband couldn’t live with me: I know who I am. Insecure with himself, he clipped my wings with harsh words or distance anytime my aspirations would push me higher. He was afraid of how small he looked in my shadow as I flew, and in spite of inner turmoil, I was free. Unlike him, I wasn’t bogged down in competing with others for material goods or status symbols and accompanying superficial labels. I had no chains that kept me in one place out of fear. There was no reason to stay with anyone who despised my passion, spirit, or who I was on the inside. I wasn’t merely free now because I was newly divorced and embarking on a cross-country move, I was free because I wasn’t frightened by the journey or the unfamiliar, mysterious destination. I was free to write a new chapter and to live my life on my terms - starting with this road trip. Road trips can teach you a lot about life. For example, what’s the biggest window on a car? The windshield. If you spend all of your time on the road examining everything in your rear-view mirror or the back of the vehicle, you’re not only going to miss everything in front of you, but your likelihood of crashing increases exponentially. Keeping focused on the view through the windshield, everything in the present and down the road, is imperative to success and survival. Bottom line: It’s okay to glance at your past, just don’t stare. Blind spots can also get the best of you too. If your fears, prejudices, and inhibitions cloud your vision, you will miss the bigger picture on account of these unnecessary and dangerous distractions. Road trips are a physical and mental journey, and this long trek across the continental US was some of the best therapy I could ever get. No judgment, no rejection, no implications; I was free to be me, flying down the road and keeping my heart fixed on finding home. To date, here in 2016, the mysterious allure of wanderlust toward the US Southwest has manifested in the home I sought out in the first place. My artistic soul was reborn in Arizona, where I also gave birth to my daughter, who gave me the courage to love again. In the Mojave Desert, Las Vegas to be exact, I met my husband and my other little girl. Throughout this desert adventure, I have overcome dealing with polytrauma, depression, and pain to waiting ten years for VA assistance and compensation. Today, on this day, the call for my VA medical claim finally came. On this special day, and looking back over the past six years since that fortuitous road trip from Massachusetts to Arizona, I’m happy to report from the arid metropolis of Las Vegas that the journey was, indeed, well worth it. Happy travels, everyone.
2 Comments
5/30/2017 08:13:54
That's a wonderful story of your trip and your life. It's really inspirational for others that how life can change and bring about happy moments.
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6/20/2017 00:17:14
A fun trip that will give us the joy to go on a trip and this is a special day for all of the families out there that wants to have the time of their lives. There are quotes that will help us on our way and will be the tool that we need for us to go to the places that we always desire in our hearts. I am happy that there are tips that are written here.
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AuthorM.B. Dallocchio is an artist, author, Iraq war veteran, and social worker based in London. Her latest book, “The Desert Warrior,” covers post-traumatic growth, resilience, and redefining one’s own personal meaning of “home.” Archives
August 2020
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