Finding myself (again) in Boulder City
For the last 10 months, I have flown to Las Vegas almost every week. Ironic, since I have been very vocal about Las Vegas being one of my least favorite places to travel. While I have come to appreciate Las Vegas — forcing myself to look at it through a lens beyond the Strip — it has also been exhausting. It’s been a challenge, teaching me what the term “road warrior” really means, even though I haven’t been on an actual road trip in months.
Don’t get me wrong, I love those Delta points coming in every time the wheels hit the tarmac, but there’s a healing that takes place when you drive a long stretch of road. The road is where the wondering meets wandering — and often where the healing takes place.
So, while I enjoy the benefits of corporate travel that provide for my wandering ways on time off, it has also made me question if my soul really likes to wander.
This isn’t the first time I’ve questioned the validity of my wanderlust. In the summer of 2015, my entire view of myself as a wanderer was shattered with one trip to Thailand. Obviously (and, thankfully), I found my way back from that place of doubt. While this most current reflection on myself as a wanderer doesn’t feel quite as dire as that dark summer of 2015, there is a similar thread of wondering, “Why do I wander?” And, even more specifically, does wandering really matter? Today, the pressure to answer that question in a certain way feels less existential than it did on a plane ride back from Thailand, but without that question, I wouldn’t keep returning to the map when I need direction.
Travel is powerful — even in its simplest forms. And the moment I stop reevaluating myself and my relationship with this part of my identity, I’ll be worried — because that would mean travel is no longer as magical or powerful as I’ve always proclaimed.
Last week, during another long haul to Las Vegas, I was feeling drained. Disconnected. A bit lost. I wasn’t sure if it was just the internal tug to create some kind of travel value out of a mundane work trip, or the energetic drain of overthinking a recent wondering where I couldn’t get any insight into the other person’s head. While the ho-hum of my hotel room could have calmed the exhaustion of travel and work, my brain was already wandering down a rabbit hole of what-ifs, why-nots, and what-nows — the kind that only lead to questions more complicated to answer than the meaning of travel itself.
I needed to quiet my brain. I needed space to sort through all the wonderings. While some may think a hotel room would be the place to do that, it rarely is for me. I needed the road — movement and quiet combined. I needed something to take me out of my head, a new view of the world outside to help me gain perspective on the one within.
Initially, I planned to drive to Red Rock National Park, one of the places I’ve enjoyed when trying to explore Vegas beyond the Strip. But when I put it into Maps and saw it was a 50-minute drive, I hesitated — until I zoomed in a little closer.
That’s when I noticed Boulder City was only about twenty minutes away, with Lake Mead just as close. Perfect.
I had never seen Lake Mead, and it seemed like the kind of quiet, natural space that could offer the perspective I was craving. I grabbed my tote, tossed my journal in it (just in case), and headed out. But even with every intention of going straight to the lake, when my GPS told me to turn, I kept driving — right into Historic Boulder City.
When I left teaching a few years earlier, one of my goals for the next chapter of my life was to be able to work from anywhere in the world. So, six months after submitting my resignation, I planned a little road trip — to none other than Historic Boulder City.
Boulder City, Nevada may seem like an odd choice for celebrating the ability to work from “anywhere in the world,” but on the tail end of Covid in November 2021, it was an easy solo road trip from Salt Lake City. It was also affordable (hello, I had just left my teaching job and was starting my freelance writing career), it was somewhere new, and it let me check off a movie moment — driving across the Hoover Dam under a full moon with “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis playing in the background.
I was quickly charmed by this historic city and have thought about it often since. So when I pulled onto Main Street for this impromptu visit, I was pleasantly surprised to see it was just as charming as I remembered. That feeling was reinforced when I overheard a local say, “See you at the Wine Walk…” to the store owner while I was browsing. I won’t lie, in the moment I thought, Should I move to Boulder City?
No, I am not moving to Boulder City (well, at least not yet…), but that small-town vibe - knowing your neighbors when you go in the local shop and a monthly wine walk - had me really close. Even if I don’t move there, I’m pretty sure a trip back for that monthly wine walk is in my near future.
Even though I was only in town for about an hour, it was just enough time to remind me of myself. From the moment I stepped out of my car and began walking down the historic Main Street, I remembered why I do this – why I wander. It’s about the experience. It’s about slowing down. It’s about getting a new perspective.
Even though I had been to Boulder City before, it had been long enough that as I walked down a street I’d already explored, I still noticed something new. And simply being in a place that was so different from my current day-to-day helped my jumbled mind become clear again.
It wasn’t just walking through a quaint town that brought me clarity. It was the road that took me home.
Despite my detour, I still wanted to see Lake Mead. So I got back in the car, headed out of town, and wound up a road just off of Main Street - and almost hit the brakes. Right around the bend was my first glimpse of Lake Mead, off in the distance, set aglow by the setting sun. It was such a view that I did a U-turn (twice) just to see it again and, of course, try to catch an inkling of what I experienced in a picture. I didn’t, but I tried.
While I may not have captured what I saw in the lens of a camera, I kept the moment going – chasing that sunset to the water’s edge and then continuing on the winding road through the desert. I didn’t know where the road led; I just trusted I would eventually find where I needed to go. So after ignoring the GPS telling me to turn around several times, I turned it off and just drove.
Eventually, I found myself right back at the entrance of the park. I had no idea I’d been driving in a circle – maybe there’s something deeper in that about how we don’t always realize when we’re looping in our lives? Or maybe not. Either way, that unexpected circle on the road pulled me out of the what-ifs and what-nows looping in my mind just long enough to ground myself and come back to where I started with a new outlook.
When I left the hotel, I thought I needed to find a quiet spot to stop, sit in the car, and maybe write but that wasn’t the therapy I needed right then. I just needed to wander. I needed to walk through the streets with no plan and no expectations. I needed to drive on an open road with the music loud – singing along without worrying about what may or may not happen in the future. I needed to just be present.