Driven by fear: my 1200-mile journey north

Am I packed for a camping trip? No - I’m moving to Bellingham…

The dry sun was high in the sky and my cheek was packed full of BIGS cracked pepper sunflower seeds. I lost blood circulation in my ass for the second time that day as my Subaru Crosstrek finally cruised out of the long state of California and into the lush state of Oregon.

The purpose of this grueling, 20-hour drive was for me to finally move north to the subdued town of Bellingham. Ever since my first time visiting Bellingham at the age of 16, I knew that attending Western Washington University was right for me. The trees, the fresh air and its proximity to other places like Seattle, Vancouver, B.C. and Mount Baker had me hooked. Better yet, I would be on my own for the first time in my life.

This was not the first time I had driven up “the 5” — Interstate 5 — to Washington from my hometown of Camarillo, California. Moving to Bellingham consisted of a total of two car trips. The first trip’s main mission was to move in the big stuff and some other miscellaneous items to my apartment. This trip was brutal, as my parents and I stuffed into the same car that was full of my belongings. This resulted in many miles of laughter, followed by some arguments, and before we knew it, someone had the sudden urge to stop and pee.

Nonetheless, after all the hours we spent on the road together, the first trip was quite memorable. It was on this leg of the moving process that I realized how far away I was truly going. This scared me a bit, but the excitement of moving took over my emotions every time I found myself in a state of fear.

By our second drive, we had it all down to a science. Our convoy knew which rest stops were the cleanest and most efficient, where to eat a quick and safe meal less than a mile off of any exit, and the crucial skill of knowing how to entertain yourself while driving.

One of the many stops to urinate and hydrate. That 2003 Toyota Seqoiua was a stud!

While on the journey north the second time around, I was a part of a two-car convoy with my parents. We started about 40 minutes north of Los Angeles in my hometown, with the giant drive ahead of us split into two days. My dad drove the Toyota Sequoia filled with my personal belongings. Seated next to me in my Crosstrek was my mom, who stayed quiet for most of the drive as I made us both listen to Anthony Bourdain’s book “Kitchen Confidential,” which I would soon learn was a mistake.

My mom chose to ride with me and not with my dad because she saw this long car ride as her last chance to spend one-on-one time with her son for a long time. I realized how special this was just a few hours after hitting the road. We spent time talking about what it was like for her to move out to St. Louis when she was in her early 20s, since this was something she never really told me much about when I was growing up. I learned a few new things about her that I never knew prior to then, and the two of us took in the amazing views along I-5.

As my mom and I listened to the audiobook, I had forgotten how poetically vulgar Bourdain truly was until it was too late. I should have known better, as chapter two of the book is frankly titled “Food is Sex.” My poor mom, a small lady from Missouri who lives her life at a rating of PG-13 at worst, had to listen to a chef explain how to score hard drugs after a long shift.

I will never forget what happened as the final chapter of the book came to a close. We were somewhere in Northern Oregon, and my mom said, “That was pretty good. I wonder what his TV shows are like, then.”

A large grin formed on my face, as I was happy to hear that my mom finally understood why I was drawn to the good word of old Tony Bourdain.

While stretching my legs at a rest stop in Southern Washington, I spotted a car with Virginia license plates. At first glance, this meant nothing to me. I had spotted thousands of cars up until this point. This one was no different. But, as I continued to walk towards the restroom, I saw a little boy with short, spiked brown hair jump out of the car and grab his dad’s hand. He must have been around six years old and on some sort of journey with his dad. I watched as the two walked together for a bit and shared a laugh.

As my family finished up at the rest stop, I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about that little boy and his dad. Many days had passed by the time I realized why this random car rattled me so much.

It reminded me of all of the memories I had of the last time I moved. When I was a five-year-old kid with short and spiked hair, my dad was offered the opportunity to work at The Pentagon in Washington, D.C.. That spring, the three of us drove out and started a new life there. We lived in Fairfax, Virginia, for two years until we moved back to California to stay indefinitely.

These memories made me think more about my current situation. Moving as a child is much different than moving as an adult. I was a fearless child; I talked to every single person I met, loved trying new things, and had yet to make the core memories needed to attach me to a geographical location. It was an effortless move on my part. I really was just along for the ride.

The Kristofferson Family just months after moving across the country in 2006. We look like we listen to Matchbox Twenty; that’s because we did!

Uprooting my life at the age of 20 was a very different and more difficult experience altogether. I had spent the last 14 years of my life living in the same house, surrounded by the same people, doing the same things. I was comfortable in my life. I had found my best friends, worked a job that I truly enjoyed every aspect of, and was supported by the family that loved me the most.

After completing the drive and moving all of my belongings into my apartment, my parents and I hung around Bellingham for a few days. Saying goodbye was the hardest part of the entire journey, but until now, my parents would have never guessed that I felt that way. We said goodbye on a rainy September morning just a few days before classes were set to begin at Western. We hugged, said that we loved each other, and I filmed with my camera as their car drove away.

I struggled to hold my sad emotions in, but I did. It broke my heart to see my mom in tears as they drove off into the dark and rainy distance. I looked at them with a big smile and a wave to show that I was going to be okay; my time had come to move away and be on my own once and for all.

South Campus, as pictured above, is home to the Communications Building. This is where I spend most of my days while working towards my degree in Visual Journalism.

No car ride, no matter the length, would have prepared us for the emotions shared that morning. My parents were returning to an empty home for the first time since before I was born. With no siblings, my parent’s duty of raising a child in their home had come to a close after 20 years of hard work.

As I entered my quiet studio apartment, I broke down. The fear of meeting people, living on my own and supporting myself had finally set in. Emotions that had once been suppressed came out in a way that I had never experienced before.

As I was talking to some of my friends about writing this piece, I was connected with a Bellingham resident named Zander Lingelbach-Pierce who had moved here from Vermont in 2020. He came to Bellingham with a few of his buddies he met while studying at the University of Vermont.

As I talked with him, we both shared our experiences of moving a long distance to end up in Bellingham.

“I was definitely a little bit worried about meeting new people,” Lingelbach-Pierce said. “It probably took me six months to get a solid friend group.”

Looking back, he is grateful that he made the move out here while knowing others during the process.

The first month in Bellingham was hard. I struggled to mingle and create relationships. For being a very outgoing person, I was a textbook introvert for the first time in my life. I was fearful of the way I was going to be perceived and was worried that I would not be able to be successful on my own. Before I knew it, things began to change. I began to forge relationships with the people who I am friends with to this day and by the time winter break came, I did not want to go home.

I joined Pure Halcyon in November of 2021 after meeting the drummer, Keegan, while playing on the WWU Water Polo team. We still play together and play shows in Bellingham and Seattle a few times a month.

It has now been one full year of living here in Bellingham. The things I have learned, experienced and look forward to are what wakes me up in the morning. While pushing myself out of my comfort zone to strive for independence and self-reflection, I have observed things about this world that I am so grateful to have seen, heard, tasted and loved.

As the great Anthony Bourdain once said, “If I’m an advocate for anything, it’s to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. The extent to which you can walk in someone else’s shoes or at least eat their food, it’s a plus for everybody. Open your mind, get up off the couch, move.”