I don't know exactly where I'm going.
And for once,
that doesn't scare me.
The car is packed.
The tank is full.
The account is funded.
No drama in the rearview.
No unfinished conversations.
No leverage left behind me.
Just road.
People romanticize certainty.
A five-year plan.
A mapped-out destination.
A guarantee.
But certainty can be another form of control.
Right now, I have something better.
Mobility.
The engine turns over clean.
Morning air cuts sharp through the window.
Highway stretching forward like permission.
I used to think freedom meant knowing the outcome.
Now I understand—
It means removing the cage.
I pull onto the road without announcing it.
No farewell speech.
No dramatic departure photo.
Just movement.
The first hour feels surreal.
No one expecting me anywhere.
No one calculating my next step.
No one watching.
It's quiet in a different way now.
Not tense.
Open.
I check the GPS, then turn it off.
I know the general direction.
That's enough.
This isn't recklessness.
It's intentional uncertainty.
There's money in the account.
Gas in the tank.
Strength in my hands.
I'm not fleeing.
I'm exploring.
There's a difference between being lost and being unassigned.
For the first time in a long time,
I am unassigned.
No role to maintain.
No performance to deliver.
No silence to uphold.
Just me.
Somewhere between mile marker one and mile marker fifty,
I realize something:
Adventure isn't about scenery.
It's about identity.
Who are you when no one is shaping you?
Who are you when no one benefits from your compliance?
That's the real journey.
The sun climbs higher.
The road widens.
The city shrinks in the mirror.
I don't know exactly where I'll land.
But I know this—
I'm not driving toward comfort.
I'm driving toward ownership.
Ownership of my time.
My choices.
My name.
There's power in not having every answer.
Because answers can be negotiated.
Direction cannot.
Today, I have direction.
Forward.
Wherever that becomes.