Road Buddies

“The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

There’s something about tragedy and misfortune that hits the reset button. We all get stuck on the proverbial treadmill, unable to slow down enough to appreciate beauty, enjoy moments of laughter or connect with others. And then the unthinkable happens. Yesterday a tornado ripped through Moore, Oklahoma and pulverized the landscape. Many are dead and entire neighborhoods lie obliterated. Some of the photos show rows of houses that look like chewed up toothpicks, a pile of shredded wood peppered with mangled cars and random debris—a pair of men’s pants, a kitchen appliance, toiletries and bricks from five different houses. Suddenly, what may have seemed important to these people 24 hours ago isn’t even registering on their radar. 

My friend Jan and I experienced something similar in 2006. Jan used to live in Austin but she and her husband, Jared, moved to California to take a job in higher education. Like most of us, they were super busy and wrapped up in the demands of daily living. One night over Thanksgiving weekend, Jan passed out after an evening walk. EMS came and they took her to the hospital, where she was [mis]diagnosed with stomach ulcers. It turns out she had stomach cancer. At first they told her that it had spread to 14 places in her liver (which is pretty much a death sentence) but they later realized that wasn’t the case. Still, her prognosis was unclear. They removed a generous portion of her stomach and told her they’d all have to wait and see what happened from there.

Meanwhile, I still lived in Austin and was waiting for the court date to officially end my 25-year marriage. I had left my husband in 2005 due to the acceleration of his mental illness and addiction, and my life felt like one of those Moore, Oklahoma neighborhoods. The Harris family had been reduced to a pile of rubble. I lost my husband and the hope of our being a family ever again. Due to his financial recklessness (a tragic result of his illness) and my own enabling and denial, we had to file bankruptcy. Our house went in to foreclosure and I left with about $200 to my name. I had no idea how I was going to support myself and take care of my youngest daughter, who was still in high school. I ended up jumping off the career cliff and started anew as a—wait for it—wedding photographer. But I had no idea whether or not I’d be able to support myself in that line of work. And that’s when I got the call from a mutual friend about Jan’s brush with death.

She was still in the hospital when I phoned her, and we had a very honest conversation about our lives, about the losses and about how desperately we both wanted to live (she, literally; I, figuratively.) For years we had talked about taking a road trip together from Los Angeles to Napa. And during that phone conversation we realized we didn’t have the luxury of waiting until things played out safely in our lives. We had no guarantee that she’d be here a year later, and we also had no guarantee that I’d ever be in a position, financially and circumstancially speaking, to be able to justify taking a whimsical trip to the California wine country. So we hit the override button and planned the trip while we still could. Though we couldn’t have told you why, exactly, we were doing this, in hindsight it was our stubborn insistence that we weren’t going to let tragedy rob us of being present: present to laughter, present to beauty, present to a dear friend, present to each and every moment.

 The trip began with Jan’s dog giving us the Sarah McLachlan eyes when she realized she couldn’t go with us.

Before we took off I shot a few photos of Jan and Jared. After all they’d been through it was wonderful to see them laughing together. This is a picture of two people who understand how fortunate they are to still be sitting next to each other.

We like to call this our Thelma and Louise shot. I asked zee French guys to take zee photo.

After visiting several wineries we stopped in Cambria to spend the night, which is on the central coast. The movie "Sideways" was filmed in and around central California. I did get a photo of Jan running down a vine-covered hill chugging a bottle of wine, but can’t seem to find it.

The “tablecloth” at our dinner table. Not sure what the hieroglyphics are about…

probably a wine-induced art project.

We ended every day with a glass of Port and some chocolates. Why?

Why NOT?

Spent some time in San Francisco the second day and pretty much just followed our noses. No agenda.

There’s something soothing about just letting the wind take you where it may.

Jan found this hotel in Napa and it was fantastic. She also paid for it since I was still trying to find two coins to rub together. Comfortable rooms, gorgeous patio with fire pits. Highly recommend, especially if you have a generous friend who doesn’t blink twice at footing the bill when you can’t.

Our number one aim in Napa was to hit the wine train. And it did not disappoint. The train takes folks on a leisurely three hour, 36 mile trek through the wine country. We both decided in advance to splurge on a gourmet meal in a restored early 1900’s Pullman dining car. There’s also a tasting car, where you can sample wines from the region. I happened to have a good friend whose grandmother worked in the Wine Train gift shop. She met us there, took the train ride with us, and they ended up comping all our tastings!

One thing I will never forget about this trip is how much we appreciated all the beauty. In a different time I would’ve walked right by things like this. But when you’ve come face to face with your own mortality, or when you have suffered so many devastating, tragic losses, a vibrant orange poppy or a field of fragrant clover can take your breath away — or perhaps bring it back.

Spoiler alert: we both lived. Ten years later we did another completely whimsical road trip. Click here if you’re interested to see how drastically a decade can shift your focus!