Last week, while my friend drove me to the Philadelphia airport to fly to Seattle, Washington, I kept up a steady stream of chatter to try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I was nervous which isn’t really that different for me, so I’ll say more nervous than usual. I was about to embark on a trip which was definitely outside of my comfort zone, let alone the eastern time zone, and I had a number of concerns:

I planned a road trip with my college roommate, currently living in Seattle, who I had not spent a significant amount of alone time with in almost 10 years. The road trip was to begin and end in Seattle with stops in Portland, Talent, Ashland, Tillamook Oregon and Gasquet California. Not only was it important to me that the trip go well, I felt that the outcome of the trip would be a significant indicator of the status of our friendship going forward. Would we be those stylish old broads in floppy hats and Jackie-O sunglasses thirty years from now on a train to Milan if I drove her batty with my obsessive picture taking on this trip? I had my doubts.
Believe it or not, this was my first time flying by myself. Me, navigating public transportation, is a lot like me trying to solve a geometry problem; I make a stupid mistake and then spend a good 20 minutes trying to figure out where I went wrong. Arriving on time, checking my bag, clearing security, finding my gate, successfully boarding the plane, and not getting sick on the plane mid-air– was as daunting as the Pythagorean theorem to me.
All of our reservations were made at Air B&B’s. Now I agreed to this in the spirit of saving money, and also to save money. Did I mention saving money? I am a person who has watched about a baker’s dozen too many Law & Order episodes to feel entirely comfortable with the idea of of staying in a stranger’s spare bedroom in Portland, a tent in Talent, or a remote village in Gasquet. Details such as compost toilets, outdoor showers, chicken and goat pens, and warnings about being awoken by roosters crowing and “element of roughing it” sounded about as appealing to me as a trip to the dentist. BUT... in for a penny, in for a pound, right? I crossed my fingers, as my friend booked our air B&B’s, and tried to take comfort in the fact that, Law & Order not withstanding, our trip was now guaranteed a good story or two.
In terms of street photography on this trip, I had given myself the task of actually talking to people instead of taking photos of them from a block away, curtsey of my telephoto lens. Although the former sounds like it should be ridiculously easy and the latter kind of creepy, I find it to be a challenge. From a distance, you can observe and photograph without interrupting or disturbing your subject. From up close, the subject is aware of you and the camera and that can change the whole dynamic of the photo, for better or worse. Plus you have to make small talk, an art form onto it’s own. This was definitely going to be interesting.

As I stepped out of the car, on the curb in front of the sign for US Airlines, I reflected, not for the first time, on how much I must really love to travel despite airports, social anxiety, irrational fears, rational fears, an abhorrence of packing, and sense of direction that could rival a toddler with an ear infection. And yet, I do all of that and more, to see someplace new, to see someone I love, to travel outside of my comfort zone. Stay tuned for the next segment of my trip.