The Long Way Home

I love to travel.

But if you asked me to choose between a two-hour flight and a twelve-hour drive, I would probably be at the airport before you finished asking the question.

Dennis, on the other hand, loves road trips.

Since we got married, I have discovered that for him, getting on the road isn't simply a way to get somewhere. Sometimes, the road is the destination.

Some Sundays, he would spontaneously say, “Let's go for a drive.”

No itinerary. No tourist attraction. No carefully planned destination.

Just the road.

We might drive two or three hours away from home, find ourselves somewhere unfamiliar, and eventually turn around and head back. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we listen to music. Sometimes we simply sit quietly and watch the scenery pass by.

For Dennis, it is relaxing.

For me, well… I had to learn to appreciate it.

Because my first thought was often, We could have gotten there much faster by plane.

But I slowly began to realize that I was looking at the trip differently than he was.

He wasn't trying to get somewhere.

He was enjoying being on the way.

There have been trips where flying would have made much more sense. A work trip. A visit to friends. Somewhere several states away. The shortest route would be to fly.

Dennis would choose to drive.

Three hours became six. Six became ten. And somehow, twelve hours behind the wheel didn't seem to bother him.

He enjoys driving.

He enjoys looking at the mountains, the fields, the trees, the changing landscape, the sunset, and even the little things we might otherwise miss when we're 30,000 feet in the air.

And I've learned that there is something beautiful about seeing the world from the passenger seat beside the person you love.

Our conversations aren't always deep. Sometimes we talk about completely ordinary things. Sometimes we listen to a podcast. Sometimes we listen to an audiobook. Sometimes music fills the car.

Sometimes I feed him while he drives.

Sometimes we stop at a gas station, use the restroom, stretch our legs, get something to drink, and get back on the road.

Nothing particularly remarkable happens.

And yet, somehow, those ordinary moments have become some of my favorite memories.

Recently, we took our longest road trip so far.

It was a work trip for Dennis to Acuña, Mexico.

We drove for twelve hours one way.

And then we drove twelve hours back.

At some point, I realized that we had probably spent more time on the road than we actually spent at our destination.

The old me might have thought, That's a lot of time in a car.

But somewhere along that drive, something shifted in me.

I started noticing the journey differently.

The miles passing by. The changing landscapes. The little conversations. The songs we knew by heart. The podcasts we listened to. The quiet moments. The roadside stops. The laughter. The snacks. The comfortable silence.

And the simple fact that there was someone I loved sitting right beside me.

Then, at one point, Dennis said something that I will probably remember for a long time.

It warmed my heart.

Because I realized that what I had once considered taking the long way was actually something much more meaningful.

It was our way.

Marriage has a funny way of teaching you that love doesn't always look like what you expected.

Sometimes love looks like compromise. Sometimes it looks like doing something because it matters to the person you love—even when it isn't naturally your favorite thing.

And sometimes, love looks like sitting in the passenger seat for twelve hours and realizing that you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

I've learned that these road trips are sacred to Dennis.

They are his way of stepping away from the routine. A chance to breathe. To see something different. To appreciate creation. To get out of the usual rhythm of work, responsibilities, schedules, and everyday life.

And now I understand that they are becoming sacred to me too.

Not because I suddenly became a road-trip enthusiast.

I still like airplanes. Very much. 😂

But I've learned to appreciate what the road gives us that an airplane cannot.

Time.

Time to be together without a long list of things that need to be done. Time to look out the window. Time to talk about nothing. Time to talk about something. Time to listen. Time to be quiet. Time to simply exist beside each other.

We often think that the memorable parts of life are the big things—the vacation, the beautiful hotel, the amazing restaurant, the tourist attraction, the spectacular view, the special occasion, the fireworks.

But some of our sweetest memories are much less impressive from the outside.

Two people in a car.

A long stretch of highway.

A sunset somewhere between destinations.

A song playing in the background.

A quick stop at a gas station.

A husband driving.

A wife sitting beside him.

And miles and miles of ordinary road.

There is nothing grand about it.

And maybe that's exactly what makes it beautiful.

We aren't always creating memories by doing extraordinary things. Sometimes we're creating them by simply being together.

I've stopped thinking that the longer route means we're wasting time.

I'm learning that sometimes the longer route gives us something the shorter route never could.

It gives us a story.

It gives us a memory.

It gives us twelve hours of being husband and wife without having to rush to the next thing.

It gives us the opportunity to discover another state, another landscape, another sunset—and to experience it together.

And maybe that's what marriage is in so many ways.

Not always arriving quickly. Not always taking the most efficient route. But learning to enjoy the journey with the person beside you.

So these days, when Dennis says, “Let's go for a drive,” I don't immediately think about how long it will take.

I think about what we might see.

What we might talk about.

What we might listen to.

Where the road might take us.

And most importantly—

who I'll be sharing the journey with.

Because I have learned something I never expected:

And maybe the best destination has never been the place we're going.

Maybe it has always been us, together, on the way there.