My trip

In my 20s, when I drove, I wasn't always on my trip. I left the house to get groceries, someone did something to anger me, and at that point my steering wheel did something I hadn't originally told it to do—it turned to follow the person, through traffic, sometimes all the way to their home. I was no longer on my trip to get groceries—I had let someone convince me that their trip was one I wanted to be on

I was on a trip with some AA people in Baton Rouge in my 30s. We were on the same trip for a year—I got sober with them. But then the group's rules made it impossible for me to attend the meeting. The building we met in became inaccessible to me, physically—so I left that group and never went back to AA again. For while, we were on a trip that worked for both of us. Then, their trip and my trip diverged

For much of my life, I've been on a trip with my birth family, my extended family. For that time, what they wanted to do and what I wanted to do overlapped enough that we were on the same trip. Then it became clear that being on their trip would lead me too far off my trip, so I veered off, continuing in my own direction

I'm not on their trip

I'm on my trip

A group of friends, a couple—their needs interlock for a while, they are together, then their needs diverge, they fall apart, they go their separate ways

I am born, I die. Everything in between is my trip. Join when pleasurable. Leave when necessary. But always make sure I'm on my trip