I found the photo above the other day.
From left to right, we have “Brother” John (family by choice), my maternal grandmother (AKA Bomma), that’s me in the middle, my great uncle Johnny (Bomma’s brother), and Johnny’s wife, Lyn. We’re in Yosemite National Park on a day trip from Fresno, CA, where I grew up. I’m guessing this was 1994.
I don’t remember a ton about this particular visit to Yosemite. Living so close to the park, my family went often, so the trips sort of blend together in my memory.
I also didn’t love going. I know how ridiculous this sounds. Yosemite is on so many people’s bucket lists, and rightly so: it is truly magnificent. There’s nothing like exiting Wawona Tunnel to see El Capitan, Bridalveil Fall, and Half Dome welcoming you.
And it’s not like I didn’t enjoy being in the park. It was the ride. As a kid, I had extreme motion sickness, and the journey along the winding roads was brutally uncomfortable for me. Sometimes I threw up more than once each way.
What I do remember about the trip in which this photo was taken is that it was the first time I didn’t get carsick on the way to or from the park. The reason? We rented a Town Car that had a middle seat in the front, and I got to ride in it. Being able to see the open road in front of me allowed my eyes and inner ears to align.
What a concept: making an adjustment to an extremely unpleasant part of an otherwise lovely experience made the whole outing better! It meant that the next time my parents said, “Kids, we’re going to Yosemite today!” I wouldn’t hide under my bed despite desperately wanting to frolic through Yosemite Valley.
The next time I feel something holding me back from doing something I genuinely want to do, I’ll remember this trip and think about ways to remove—or at least alleviate—whatever nastiness is preventing me from hopping right in the car. Luckily, these days, I’m the one driving.