My Back Story
Curvilinear Tales from the Road.
My Backstory
Flashback to when I’m sitting in my car on the 10 freeway, headed east to the desert (again.) On this particular trip I had decided, rather spontaneously, to go see the High Desert Art Fair in Pioneertown. As I was driving there, I found myself lost in thought asking myself why I do this. Why I jump in the car, often alone, and head out on these long drives into the desert. What’s the pull or the purpose?
Prior to this outing I remembered a friend teasing me about a series of social posts I had made, photos from all the different national parks I visited, each one showing the back of me looking out toward the landscape. “Back to back to back,” they said. And that phrase struck me: this is my backstory.
This resonates with me because of my history with scoliosis and my obsession with my back. My spine has never been straight, just as the roads I take are rarely linear. Both have been curved, crooked, and winding and maybe that’s the point. The bends in my body, and in my path, have shaped the way I see the world. They’ve made me wonder: what is it I’m seeking when I drive out here? What motivates me? What do I hope to find?
The Road and the Quiet
In the solitude of these trips, I often tap into a deeper connection with myself. It feels like a moving meditation, an alignment that shows up in the quiet. Sometimes I crave it and will jump in my car just to tap into it, especially when life feels distracting or overwhelming.
But it hasn’t always been this way. There were years when driving was almost unbearable. I had panic attacks, almost exclusively behind the wheel. Every car ride for 3 years felt like a ticking time bomb an explosion waiting to happen. The fear of losing control of my own body was constant. Those were the years of white-knuckling through “Jesus take the wheel” moments.
Thankfully, that season is long behind me. But on this particular day when I was desert bound once again, oddly, I felt flickers of it return, subtle waves of fear washing over me, reminding me of an embodied memory. This time however, instead of collapsing into it like I once did, I steadied myself through my breath and the gentle reminder I repeated to myself over and over again: you’ve got this, girl. Not as a dismissal of what was happening, but as an act of self-love and compassion. Focus on the road. Focus on what lies ahead.
That’s what keeps me going on these long drives: the pull of the destination, the prize at the end of the crooked, winding road. The promise that what’s waiting is bigger than the temporary though very real discomfort. I always know I have a choice to turn back, yet in those moments I can’t quite imagine it. Deep down, I trust that forward is the only way through.
The Spine of a Story
Earlier in the day, prior to leaving for the Hight Desert Art Fair, I had been having a conversation with my dear friend about how she structures her book proposals. The way she gathers her ideas into a flow and format that allows her story and vision to unfold seemingly effortlessly. It reminded me of Twyla Tharp’s book The Creative Habit and the chapter on “Spine.” That idea of pulling threads of ideas together, intuitively, without editing at first and eventually discovering a beautiful through line, a story and way of expressing.
I believe that every work of art needs a spine, an underlying theme, a motivator coming into existence. It doesn’t have to be apparent to the audience (or end user). But you need it at the start of the creative process to guide you and keep you going. - Twyla Tharp
That’s how these road trips feel. The spine is the curved road ahead, the backbone on the map leading me toward a new destination. The rest of the journey I leave to unfold in its own rhythm. I used to be that person who over-planned everything, especially when taking on the organizer role and traveling with others. But now, with age and trust in my own ability to adapt, my itineraries are more skeletal: a place to sleep, one maybe two anchor points to the day, and the rest left open for surprise and a bit of magic.
On the morning of my drive, for example, just as I was setting out for Pioneer Town, another friend messaged, knowing I was headed to the desert, and wanted to tell me about a live dance performance happening at one of the DesertX exhibits in nearby Palm Springs the same day. Because I hadn’t over planned, I was able to include this detour, making the drive from Joshua Tree back down to Palm Spring before heading home and catching Jacob Jonas The Company’s choreographed piece at the opening of Sara Meyohas’ Truth Arrives in Slanted Beams installation at Desert X. A truly moving collaboration that I’m so glad I didn’t miss. That’s the magic these trips so often give me, as long as I stay open to the possibilities.
Why I Go
I go because I need the quiet for the listening.
I go because I remember who I am out there.
I go because I trust the road to teach me something.
I go because even when fear flickers, I know forward is the only way through.
I go because it keeps me close to the magic that’s always available to us.
I go because traveling gives me hope. And we all need a little hope these days.
Perhaps the backstory to my travels is simply the reminder that the curved, imperfect road is the only one that truly leads me back home to myself.
Spinal Tapped
Postscript: I would like to note that, in an uncustomary way, this story was written almost entirely from my Voice Memos app (with a few necessary grammatical edits) a spontaneous download while driving that morning to Pioneertown. As I mentioned above, I was feeling uneasy on the road, so I thought it best to talk my way through it and found comfort in rediscovering both my voice and my strength in the backbone of the story that unfolded—offering me a sense of calm and guidance for the journey ahead.
Thank you for riding shotgun with me on this ever-unfolding road..
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thanks for that sprinkle of fairy dust
“you’ve got this, girl” ❤️