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![Illustration of a silhouetted woman and man holding hands in the grass in the foreground with flamingos standing in water in front of trees in the background Illustration of a silhouetted woman and man holding hands in the grass in the foreground with flamingos standing in water in front of trees in the background](https://cdn.aarp.net/content/dam/aarpe/en/home/benefits-discounts/members-only-access/info-2022/florida-road-trip-life-journey-essay/_jcr_content/root/container_main/container_body_main/container_body1/container_body_cf/container_image/articlecontentfragment/cfimage.coreimg.50.932.jpeg/content/dam/aarp/members-only/member-benefits/2022/04/1140-florida-promo.jpg)
Something happens when you’re cooped up in a car with the same person for hours. Issues and grievances otherwise dormant may bubble to the surface. There are few distractions, no doors to slam or corners for sulking. Nothing but time and the open highway.
My husband and I experienced just that kind of trip last spring when we set off in our subcompact Nissan for what was supposed to be a fun week in South Florida. But we brought along a bit more baggage than the kind we loaded into the Nissan’s trunk. The drive became part therapy — a crucible for testing, and ultimately strengthening, our relationship.
The talking begins
It was raining and well past noon as I carried the last of my luggage to the car — crying. We’d started late, not because we’d been sleeping in or last-minute packing but because of the gray apathy that descends in the aftermath of any marital strife. This morning’s conflict started when I asked my husband about a recent errand where he’d picked up some fast food. As so often happens in marriage, it wasn’t what I said but how I said it. He detected the thin vein of disapproval in my question, and he didn’t appreciate it.
Maybe under other circumstances, an apology would have sufficed and we would have moved on. But this wasn’t an isolated incident. I tend to give unsolicited advice to people I love (actually, only one person I love), and he has a knack for picking up on criticism, no matter how tactfully worded. It’s a problem we hadn’t solved in 14 years, and it didn’t seem likely we would now. As I climbed into the passenger’s seat, I felt certain our vacation was already ruined.
If our path to resolution would be fraught with difficulty, our drive would be simple. We were headed from our home in Tampa to Key West, cutting across the state’s heartland north of the Everglades instead of hugging the coast. With a few scenic detours, it would be about 1,000 miles and 18 hours of driving time round-trip.
The landscape as we drove east from Tampa is one you don’t often see in Florida. Away from the beaches, suburbia softens into open countryside. Citrus groves and pastures line the road, not a strip mall or condo in sight. It’s the kind of setting suited to a good, long talk: a flat road, no stops or interruptions, bucolic and somehow peaceful.
![Pond seen from the road while driving from Tampa Bay to Sebring. Pond seen from the road while driving from Tampa Bay to Sebring.](https://cdn.aarp.net/content/dam/aarpe/en/home/benefits-discounts/members-only-access/info-2022/florida-road-trip-life-journey-essay/_jcr_content/root/container_main/container_body_main/container_body1/container_body_cf/body_one_cf_one/par8/body_three_callout_o/cfimage.coreimg.50.932.jpeg/content/dam/aarp/members-only/member-benefits/2022/04/1140-florida-secondary3.jpg)
So talk I did. As we barreled down U.S. Highway 98 some 60 miles outside of Tampa, I started expressing how sorry I was, reassuring my spouse how much I loved him. But our conversation went in circles. He had a point — if you judge a person’s actions, isn’t that admitting there’s a part of that person you would change, a part that isn’t perfect to you? It was a paradox, unanswerable, and we arrived that evening at our first stop, Sebring, somewhat downcast. The weather matched our mood, a half-hearted drizzle as we walked the roundabout anchoring the downtown’s historic district. Stores, including the quaint soda shop, were closed up early for Sunday. I snapped photos of murals, trying to ignore the wet pavement, the soggy grass and the blank unhappiness in the pit of my stomach.
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