Saying "yes" to the Givens

Sometime during the past school year, my fourteen-year-old daughter surprised everyone by announcing that she wanted to go on a family trip across Canada in our thirty-year-old motor home. A year before, when my husband had suggested the same thing, both my daughter and I had scowled at the thought of being stuck in a confined space as a family for weeks on end. Now, I was the odd one out—the only one who didn't want to go.

My husband called it a "once in a lifetime opportunity." "Yeah," I thought, "I bet it would be." An opportunity for what? To be kept awake by everybody snoring? To experience conflict over every little thing? To get stranded in the middle of nowhere? But I was outnumbered, so with my knees shaking, I said "yes" to the trip, while silently crying out "no" to the challenges.

Facing the Realities of a Family Road Trip

Looking back, I can say that everything I feared happened—and more. People snored, we had conflicts, and the motor home broke down in the middle of nowhere. But isn’t that just expected when four people drive 13,000 kilometers in a tired, aging RV?

As we made our way across the country, I realized I had a sense of entitlement that these things shouldn't happen to me. Where did that come from? I began to see that I had a lot of fear but only so much control. I couldn't control other drivers, the weather, or mechanical breakdowns. I couldn't make my kids have a good time, although I did give them heck if they didn't look out the window enough.

Learning to Let Go

My inflated ego insisted that things should go a certain way, but reality taught me otherwise. What I could control was my level of resistance to life on the road and what it threw at me. I decided to say "yes" to the adventure and uncover the treasures hidden beneath.

When it came to sleep, there was more than just snoring disturbing me. One night in Halifax, it rained so hard that our roof developed a major leak right over my daughter's bed. At two in the morning, she crawled into my bed. We giggled as we watched the drops of water plunk into pots. Every time my husband reminded us he was trying to sleep, we laughed harder. Wrapped in each other's arms, everything was funny; in that moment, nothing else mattered. My son slept through it all, his snoring no longer an annoyance but a peaceful reminder of his steady nature. This was no tragedy; it was an unexpected moment of joy and closeness.

Finding Freedom in Conflict

There were times of conflict, but the beauty of having nowhere to run meant that we either let things go or talked them out. During one state of agitation, I declared I wouldn’t play mediator or peacekeeper—they would have to sort out their issues themselves. My son patted me on the head and said, "Good for you, Mom. It's about time."

What? I knew he was a foot taller than me, but could he see a part of me that I couldn’t see? So, I let go, and something wonderful happened: I discovered that all my interference was really unnecessary. It was downright annoying and stopped people from finding their own creative ways to solve problems. When I let go, I freed myself from self-imposed suffering. Accepting conflict meant I could get on with life rather than getting caught up in how things played out. It was incredibly liberating for all of us.

I developed more faith in my family's ability to work things out, and they did so with humor, warmth, and compassion. In this, I found equality and trust within my family.

Embracing Life’s Challenges

The lack of breakdowns began to feel like a miracle, although we did have some problems—nothing that couldn't be solved with duct tape, twine, or a coat hanger. We narrowly escaped tornadoes, were eaten alive by bugs, and even managed to get some airtime when a road came to an unexpected end. At one point, we were stranded in the middle of nowhere because we ran out of propane, but we were rescued by kind-hearted people who went out of their way to help us. We were left feeling grateful and humbled by people's big hearts and willingness to help. There was a sense of connectedness that moved beyond our family and into the air we all breathe together.

We learned to make plans with the understanding that things wouldn't always go our way. Our comfort began to lie not in what we thought we could control but in our commitment to deal with whatever happened. This brought complete freedom because we were open to life's challenges without feeling entitled or too weak to endure them. We toughened up to the givens of a road trip but softened to the nature of being human. In this, we found the peace of surrender, not the fear of defeat.

A Journey of Growth and Acceptance

On that road trip, even though four of us were confined within that space for five weeks, I still had a physical and emotional place for myself. I could look out the window and acknowledge that this was a moment in time that would come to an end. Life seemed to stare back at me, reminding me that everything changes and nothing lasts forever. I could always be there for myself, continually committing to learning how to love without fear, control, and conditions. With every "yes" I said to the challenge, I found more peace, joy, and space in my happy place.

Reflecting on the Bigger Picture

Predictably, I see the road trip as a reflection of the bigger picture. I know there will be "givens" in my life as a parent of teens. I will face pain and discomfort. I might break down or be shocked by the unexpected. But perhaps, if I can hold onto that sweet sense of surrender, I can face anything life offers—not to fight but to embrace the challenges that will lead me along the heroic journey of being a parent.