The Journey Begins
The bus hummed steadily as it made its way along the wide highways of Texas, the open road stretching out before me like an endless promise. I sat back in my seat, watching the miles pass by, and my mind wandered back to the conversation I had with Father Emanuel the night before.
"You are a human being, Sunny. You are not meant to be alone in this world," he had said, his voice carrying a weight of wisdom I couldn't ignore. "We are social creatures, and sometimes, we need to let others in. Don't always try to do everything alone. Life is meant to be enjoyed, shared, and yes, sometimes, you have to fall in love with it. Trust the journey, trust the people you meet, and above all, trust yourself."
It was strange. I had always been the solitary type, preferring to work alone, to keep my thoughts and ambitions to myself. But Father Emanuel's words had stuck with me. Maybe it was time to start living a little differently. Maybe it was time to actually enjoy the journey, to let the world in and experience things I'd never considered before. Maybe, just maybe, I needed to start falling in love with life itself.
As the bus rumbled down the highway, I decided to take a detour. I had read about it while doing some research on the way to Montana, and it felt like the perfect opportunity to take a small step towards something new—a little indulgence in the simple joys of life. I decided to make a stop at Snow's BBQ, a legendary BBQ joint in Texas, known for its smoky brisket and tender ribs. It was a small-town treasure, a place where locals swore by the meat, and tourists would travel from miles around just to taste the food.
I had never been much of a food connoisseur, but the idea of enjoying a true Texas BBQ felt like the right way to start embracing Father Emanuel's advice. It wasn't just about the food; it was about stepping outside of my comfort zone and experiencing life in a way I hadn't before.
I arrived at Snow's BBQ just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The place was buzzing with activity, the scent of smoky meat wafting through the air, mingling with the sounds of laughter and chatter. People were gathered in clusters around picnic tables, savoring the flavors of the slow-cooked meat, while the pitmasters worked diligently at the grill, flipping slabs of ribs and sizzling brisket.
The line was long, but the atmosphere was warm, and as I stood there waiting, I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. People greeted each other like old friends, a testament to how the simple act of sharing a meal could bring strangers together. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I belonged in a place like this.
When I finally made my way to the counter, a woman with a big smile greeted me. "What can I get ya, hon?"
I glanced at the menu board, which seemed to stretch on forever, filled with options that made my mouth water. I had no idea what to order, but the decision was easy after hearing the person in line ahead of me rave about the brisket. I decided to follow suit.
"I'll take the brisket, please. And a side of beans and cornbread," I said, trying to keep my excitement under control.
"Good choice," she nodded. "You'll love it. I'll get that right to you."
Moments later, I was handed a plate piled high with tender slices of brisket, golden cornbread, and a scoop of beans that were just the right shade of smoky. I found a spot at one of the picnic tables, sat down, and dug in.
The brisket was nothing short of extraordinary. The meat was so tender it practically fell apart with the touch of a fork, and the smoky flavor hit my taste buds in all the right ways. The cornbread was soft and buttery, with just the right amount of sweetness to complement the savory flavors of the meat. And the beans, with their rich, smoky broth, added the perfect touch. It was like I had been transported to a new world, where food wasn't just sustenance—it was an experience.
As I chewed, I realized something. This wasn't just about eating. This was about living, about enjoying the simple things. It was about sharing space with others, even if I didn't know them. The warmth of the food, the laughter of the people, the way the evening sky turned from orange to deep purple—it all felt like a small slice of the life I had been missing.
I finished my meal, feeling content and at peace. For the first time in a long while, I felt connected to something beyond myself. I was starting to understand what Father Emanuel meant. Life wasn't meant to be rushed through—it was meant to be savored.
The next morning, I was back on the bus, heading north toward Montana. The journey wasn't short, but I was determined to enjoy every moment of it, just as Father Emanuel had advised. The cost of the bus ride was manageable, a little over $150 for the one-way ticket, but it wasn't just about the money. It was about taking my time, letting the miles roll by, and soaking in everything along the way.
As the bus sped through the Texas plains, heading into New Mexico, then Arizona, and finally up toward Colorado, I found myself reflecting on my past, my present, and my future. I had always been focused on survival, on getting from one day to the next. But now, I was beginning to realize that life wasn't just about surviving—it was about living. And for the first time, I was ready to truly start living.
Cost Breakdown for the Trip:
Bus Ticket (Texas to Montana): $150
Meal at Snow's BBQ: $20 (Brisket, beans, and cornbread)
I stared out the window as the scenery shifted, from the flatlands of Texas to the rolling hills and mountains of New Mexico. The road was long, but for the first time, I was content to be on it. The journey wasn't just about getting to Montana—it was about enjoying every step along the way.
And maybe, just maybe, this was the first real step in falling in love with life.