Traveling, even on a small scale, always necessitates a certain level of discomfort. You’re likely visiting an unfamiliar environment, living out of a suitcase with an inevitably smaller wardrobe than you’re accustomed to, and running on little sleep. If you’re really feeling adventurous, you may choose to visit somewhere where people speak a foreign language (the uncertainty that arises with the inability to ask for a bathroom or a glass of wine is so humbling). Oh, and you probably also forgot your toothbrush.
Traveling with a group introduces a whole new potential for discomfort. Not only are you contending with the ramifications of leaving your own comfort zone, but you are also subject to the changing moods of a whole group of equally exhausted and uncomfortable humans. Even among the closest friends, some level of conflict is inevitable.
But there’s something about that collective uneasiness that is bonding; it lends itself to greater attentiveness, both to the destination and to one another.
This summer, a group of my dear friends decided a trip to Michigan was necessary for our souls. We sorted through the logistics of the ten-hour drive up north and miraculously booked a house that would hold us all. Schedules were cleared, vacation days approved, and the nine of us caravanned to a quiet cabin in northern Michigan.
We shared breakfasts on the screened-in porch and brewed three pots of coffee each morning that we all drank black. Our laptops, external monitors, keyboards, and mouses cluttered the long table as we all settled in for work from “home” days together (it’s a corporate girl summer after all). We swam at sunset and hiked Sleeping Bear Dunes and played card games and went out for ice cream three times. We poured wine around a candlelit dinner table, the Betsie river quietly snaking through the woods behind us, and sparks from our campfire floating up to join the glittering stars overhead.
It was one of those trips where I wanted to wake up early and go to bed late every day, squeezing as much life into our given hours as possible. It was a sacrifice for us all to be there—to choose to spend seven days together and use precious paid time off and cook for one another—but it was also such a joy to embrace community during such disjointed times in our world.
We experienced some of the discomforts of travel, of course—our rental boat almost sank to the bottom of Lake Leelanau, “hangry” is a very real emotion, and nine adults sharing only two bathrooms is a recipe for… adventure. But the benefits of time together unquestionably outweighed those minor inconveniences. Travel discomforts are often momentary, but the memories will be with us always. Those are unquestionably worth it every single time.
Olivia graduated from Calvin in May 2018 with a double major in business and writing. She now works as an editor in Nashville, Tennessee and is eating her way through the restaurants of her new town. She enjoys weekend trips with friends, petting other people’s dogs, and drinking coffee like a Gilmore Girl.
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Well said. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall of that house!
We would have loved to have you! 🙂
Thanks for sharing this story, Olivia.