Shared silence
Haines, Alaska
Tom and I have been on the road for six weeks now. Everything we see is new: every person we meet, every bend in the road, every town we pass through. But just like home, there's a rhythm underneath all that newness, a repetition in the small rituals we've built on the road.
Though I enjoy driving, Tom is happier behind the wheel. I'm more at ease sitting still, while he likes having something to do, so he drives more often than not. I take pride in navigating, and Tom is more than happy to let me get lost in the maps while he keeps his eyes on the road.
I wasn't expecting our flow out here to come as naturally as it has. But it makes sense because we built Envy together, piece by piece, so we already know exactly what she needs and when. Setting up camp means leveling the truck, unlocking the bikes, opening up the camper, popping the tent. Or there's airing down the tires, chopping wood for the fire, or prepping dinner, jobs we swap back and forth depending on the day. In the mornings we trade off making coffee and oats too, so one of us gets to lounge in the penthouse of our rooftop tent, teasing whoever's on kitchen duty below. There's no friction in who does what, we just easily bounce back and forth.
Forty days in, the process is seamless. We barely need to speak anymore. One of us starts a task, and the other just knows which thing to pick up next. There's an ebb and flow to it that we move through together without thinking.
When you spend every waking minute with someone, you start to appreciate the intimacy of shared silence. Sitting in the car with nothing to say, sometimes for long stretches, feels comfortable rather than empty. We both know our eyes are catching the same things, like the mountains, or the endless trees rolling past. Our minds are off somewhere in our own thoughts, past and present and future. It's okay to say nothing. The shared silence is its own kind of conversation, a way of connecting without needing words.
I consider myself a resilient person. I adapt, I enjoy change, but underneath the surface I am naturally introverted too. I tend to quietly observe in larger groups rather than lean in. I don't always speak up, or get curious. Tom is the opposite. This man feeds off the energy of others. He always says yes. Yes to the next stretch of road, the next plan. He also says yes to whatever version of me shows up that day, even on the hard ones. That kind of yes is what makes this journey particularly rewarding for me. If I were on my own, I wouldn't have been as open to the experiences that have come our way, nor would I have felt the confidence to lean in as much as I have. Because of Tom, I am bolder, more curious. This trip has let us both explore our shared yearning for new experiences.
Some nights, after the dishes are done and the fire's burned low, we find ourselves sitting in shared silence once more. Tom doesn't need me to say anything. We just are.
We created this rhythm, this whole life on the road, together.
And perhaps, much like Envy, we were built for this.
