“It’s not the destination, it's the journey.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson
I’m a little late with this week’s post because I spent four days on a road trip with a close friend. The first two days were spent enjoying the scenery, stopping for photos, and sharing good memories. The last two days were the real work: loading a moving truck, driving twelve hours with frequent stops, then unloading everything at the end. Knowing the purpose of the trip would be stressful, we planned a slower start so we could savor the journey before the hard labor began.
The details aren’t necessary here, but the mission was a success. Everything in the California storage unit fit into the U-Haul, we avoided breakdowns and injuries, made it back to Portland on schedule, and we captured some great images from the Northern California Redwoods and coastline.
What matters for my recovery is this: I anticipated the stress of the trip. The kind of stress that, in the past, would have given me an easy excuse to numb myself. Long days on the road, loading and unloading heavy boxes, navigating traffic, worrying about schedules, imagining worst-case scenarios—any of these would have triggered old patterns. And yes, I felt stress. But I managed it.
I recognized when my thoughts were spinning, and that awareness gave me a pause—a space to return to the present moment. I noticed when my friend was stressed and did what I could to offer calm and reassurance. I showed up as the grounded version of myself.
The most important moment came during the final drive through Portland rush-hour traffic in a laden and large moving truck. A thought surfaced: in the past, a string of stressful days would have heightened my desire to drink. And even the successful completion of a difficult project would have sparked the belief that I “deserved” a reward—usually alcohol. Maybe there was the faintest glimmer of that old reflex, but I caught it quickly. I felt pride in my clarity and strength. I was solid.
My takeaways: anticipate the journey, stay aware during it, and take sober pride in its completion. And I’m grateful for the new friends who helped load and unload the truck—we couldn’t have done it alone.