I'm on my second walk of the day. My arms swing back and forth, back and forth. My feet plant firmly one in front of the other. It’s hot. Even in the shade. I am sweaty. My forehead glistens. And I do not care.
Because finally, I am in a place where I feel safe. Truly safe.
That is not how I felt on my first overnight stop of this four-week roadtrip. As soon as I pulled up to the motel in Bristol, Virginia to claim the room I had booked earlier in the day, I immediately recognized this was sketch central. Mattresses were piled up. Vending machines, broken and unplugged, were lined up in a row. And various people in hung around outside the motel office.
I checked in to my room any way because, well, I had paid in full when I booked the room. It was cheap (that’s why I picked it). And I felt I needed to stick to the decision I made based on pictures in an app that clearly did not reflect reality. There was even the promise of a free (as in, included) hot breakfast which, well, did not exist.
I pulled around back to where my room was (on the second floor), took out most (but not all) my stuff, and carried it up to the room. I even put my food and ice packs into the fridge and freezer. Determined it was all ok, I was fully prepared to settle in, warm up my dinner in the microwave, and spend the night here.
But then I thought, “I should go downstairs, back my car into the parking spot and get it as close to the tall brick wall as I can so that it's harder for people to take out of the back what I left inside.”
What?
Whether I was actually unsafe or not does not matter. What matters is that I felt very unsafe in my surroundings. I stood in a room that smelled of stale cigarette smoke. There was no working AC. The walls were scuffed up. The lights barely flickered. And the bathroom did not look clean.
So I thought, “Yeah, this is not a good situation and I don't need to stay here.” And then, “Okay, but if I leave, will I offend the people who are staying here—I mean, the people who live here.” Because I would say a good portion of the people in that motel, if not all of them, the ones I met in the outdoor stairwell or along the pathways, definitely live there and rent week to week. I know because they said so.
Everything in me, from my head to my house, begged me to leave. I really did not feel safe. Then I thought, “But I already spent the money and I picked this place because it was the cheapest so I could save money. To get a room in another hotel would mean I would spend even more money.”
Unable to think clearly inside the room, I walked out onto the “balcony” (it’s not a balcony—its the outdoor walkway along the rooms that has a railing so you don’t fall down but that does not qualify as a balcony). The guy from the room next door was out there. He leaned on the railing and smoked a cigarette. As soon as I got outside and stood next to him, he looked over and said, “Pretty sketchy isn’t it? The music was blasting all night. Same thing will happen tonight.”
“Huh,” was all I could say to that. Then I asked him, “When did you get here?”
“Yesterday. It was cheap and I paid for a week but I now got work in Nashville that starts on Tuesday so I don’t know if I’ll stay.”
“Are you from Nashville?”
“Nah, I’m from here. Lived here with my girlfriend for the last five years. We broke up and she kicked me out. Tried to rent a place but I have not heard back and now I have work in Nashville.”
“Right. Got it.”
For the next few minutes, we both stood there without saying a word, while, from below, music radiated upward. The sun dipped further below the tree-covered horizon.
Then it came to me. What am I trying to prove about what and to whom if I decide to stay here for the night? Seriously. I do not have to stay in a situation in which I do not feel physically, spiritually, mentally, or emotionally safe. I did that for too many years when I thought I did not have a choice because I needed to prove something. Not any more. Today I have nothing to prove to anyone and I have the capacity and the capability to get up and leave.
"I would leave if I could,” the guy chimed in as if he knew what I was thinking. “Even that place over looks better,” he said and pointed to the motel next door. That’s when I pulled out my phone, and, while we continued to banter back and forth, booked a different room at a large chain hotel ten minutes away.
“Did you just get yourself another room?”
“Yeah.”
“Good for you.”
After a few more minutes of communal contemplation, I stood up straight and said, “I’m gonna head out. I hope everything works out for you.”
With that, I went back into my room, took my food and the freezer packs out of the fridge and put them into my cooler bag. Then I gathered the rest of my bags, and carried them, in one go like a pack mule,along the outdoor hallway, down the stairs past another set of broken down vending machines, and threw everything into my car.
I drove to the front and parked outside of the office. Once inside, Jill, the young twenty-year old woman who had checked me in and with whom I had a great conversation twenty minutes earlier, looked up and said, “Hey there.”
“Hey, girl. I’m going to leave. Here are the keys. I don’t feel safe here.” It was the truth and I spoke the truth.
"Oh, I'm sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I just don't feel safe here.”
“Okay, well, you know, you won’t get your money back.”
“That’s ok.”
Our eyes met and I will never forget the look in her eyes. It was a combination of fear, innocence lost and resignation. It was a plea. She is not form the area, and she lives in the motel. This is her home. She does not have a car. And she cannot leave. In fact, she worked two back to back shifts, from 3pm until 9am the next morning. WTF. How is that even remotely okay? I mean, that's an 18 hour shift, straight, with no breaks, overnight. She has to put up with that because she has nowhere else to go—or at least she has nowhere to go of her own accord. And if she felt unsafe, or ever felt unsafe in the future, it would be and at least certainly feel nearly impossible for her to leave.
I saw myself in her. Even though our circumstances were completely different when I was her age, I saw in her the same innocence and fear that I carried and the resignation I would develop. And as far as I have come from that place, just minutes earlier, I was willing to stay in a room with broken lamps, stale cigarette smoke, and torn up walls even though I have the means to leave. I felt stuck in the belief that I had to stay simply because I had made a decision earlier in the day to book this room. In the face of the full reality of that decision, I now felt I had to prove (to whom? someone else? myself?) that I was not afraid. That I could go anywhere and be everywhere, even when, no, especially when, I knew it was not safe for me.
But today, I no longer need to prove anything to anyone (really, I never did) and I do get to care for myself (which I know how to do). And unlike Jill, I can afford to change my mind, pay for a night in two different hotels and only stay in one, get in a car, and leave to go to a safer place.
It is a level of freedom of movement that is not available to everybody. And too often, even when it is, it can feel like it is not. And that’s the truly sinister part—the delusion that to leave is unacceptable and the fear that safety is unattainable. Today I am grateful I no longer need to hold either as truth.
So today, as I wake up in a friend’s home in Nashville, and go out to grab cup of coffee on my way to record with a woman across town, I will practice gratitude.
Gratitude for the fact that I can recognize when I feel unsafe. Gratitude that when I do, I know what to do to take care of myself. Gratitide that I am no longer willing to suck it up and stick it out (like I did time and time again, for decades), because I did not want to upset someone else. Gratitude for the credit card and the funds to pay that credit card so that I can make the decision to leave. Gratitude that when I choose to follow the love within myself, I arrive in a place beyond my wildest dreams. Gratitude that I get to move freely.
And yeah, that was a one hell of a way to start this trip.
On every day on this trip, I share on Instagram about where I get my cup of coffee for the day (generally the first one). The goal is to also get a sticker in each place (not as easy as that sounds because, well, most coffee shops don’t sell stickers…I will need to improvise) and cover my travel coffee mug by the end. If you want to help fund my coffee and travel mug sticker endeavor, use the handy dandy “buy me a cup of coffee” button I created. Thanks!
And if you would like to know more about what I am up and the Discoball Tour Raffle, check out this post.
A Dream, a Request and a Raffle!
Slight twist this week—I am not including the usual roundup of what I did or where I ate or what I listened to at the end of this post. I did keep the Monday Meditation. (ps—it’s a good one so keep reading to the bottom!)
Meals Out: I have tons of snack packs in my car (I made about thirty of them before I left!) and I brought some of the meals I get from My Metabolic Meals so I could save by not eating out these first few days. (I have a freezer bag and cold packs, so will probably refill the meals at some point along the way).
Listening (voice): No podcasts…been busy and have not had much free time. I have started listening to ESPN Radio in the mornings again.
Listening (song most likely on repeat): Good Morning by Max Frost. This song was given to me by a dear friend. It is the best way to wake up and it is the first song on my Discoball Tour playlist. Every song I listen to while I drive around will be added to this playlist (even the ones I just check out or sample out of curiosity). You are invited to follow along on Spotify. (link to Apple Music, embed to Spotify)
Watching: The Marlow Murder Club on PBS. What could be better than three, unlikely-to-be-friends-but-they-bond-because-they-were-lonely-on-their-own ladies in a small town getting together to solve mysteries with the police? Yeah, nothing.
Most Hours Logged Doing: Driving about 4.5 hours each day (Saturday and Sunday). Most of that time I either listened to music (see above), or rough cuts of podcast episodes I am editing. I also talked on the phone a lot with some of my besties. Oh, and I zoned out in the quiet while cruising along the highway.
Monday Morning Meditation: 9.1.25
I already know what is right for me and I do not need permission from anyone else to take the action in front of me. When I follow the love within myself, for myself, I will inhabit more and more of the life I love and continue to live the love I have.
Is there a topic you would like me to write about in a Monday Missive? Cover in a podcast episode? I am curious about what you are curious about and would love to hear from you so leave a comment below or drop me line.
WOW Hella!!! That’s huge!!! Way to listen to “The Nudge”! I’ll say a prayer for Jill from the motel🙏🏻.
It's great to read that you left. Good for you and keep listening to yourself and knowing that you can leave. Post a pic of your snack pack next time 😁