I took a solo road trip up to New Hampshire for a book-writing retreat.
That was the reason. That was the plan.
But like a lot of things that start simple, it didn’t stay that way.
It turned into one of those trips where every stop quietly connected to something — a person, a place, a memory, a song — and by the end of it, it felt less like a drive and more like a thread being pulled through different parts of my life.
Starting with roots
I left from Alpharetta with no real rush, just a long first day ahead of me.
I got into Blacksburg late and went straight to the hotel. Nothing fancy, just needed rest.
But the next morning, first thing, I went to campus.
My parents were married at Virginia Tech, and I walked to the War Memorial Chapel where it happened. It was quiet, empty, just early morning light and a few people moving through campus.
No ceremony, no moment to capture — just standing there, knowing what that place meant in my own story.
On the way out, I stopped at the bookstore and replaced a Virginia Tech sweatshirt I’d had for probably 40 years. It was worn down to the point of not really being wearable anymore. I don’t even know exactly where I got it — campus, family, somewhere along the way.
It felt right to replace it there.
Not as a souvenir. Just… continuity.
Family, history, and a house that’s still standing
From there I drove into Charleston, West Virginia.
My grandparents lived there for about 50 years. That house. My dad lived there in high school.
This time, though, the house is back in the family. My cousin’s kid bought it and fixed it up, and another cousin helped make that happen.
So I pulled off the same exit — the one near the Capitol where my grandmother worked and Coonskin Park — and drove on up. I got time with my cousin my age, who made it happen at lunch after.
It wasn’t dramatic. I didn’t need it to be.
It was just one of those moments where you see something that’s been part of your life for decades, and it’s still there. Still holding its place. Actually, better than ever…
A quiet drive, then a field to yourself
That first stretch of the trip was quiet.
No calls. No podcasts. No noise. Not even music.
Just the road for 2 days.
I didn’t talk to anyone until after Williamsport.
I got in late that night, but the next morning I went over to the Little League World Series field.
No crowds. No games. Just me walking around the complex, taking it in.
It’s one of those places you’ve seen your whole life on TV, and then suddenly you’re standing there by yourself.
Simple. Quiet. Real.
Then I got back on the road and headed to Hollis, New Hampshire. Home base for a few days with Ashima’s family.
Energy, then stillness
Sunday, I went to a concert in Framingham. Ashima’s concert – she’s a very high-level cellist – this was a trio playing for about an hour.
Energy, music, people — a completely different pace from the drive.
Monday day, we met with our book coach Leslie in person to kick things off – so amazing to meet her in real life – she’s been an incredible guide on this book journey.
Then Monday night, everything shifted again. I went up to Warren, NH with Ashima. The mountains. To get focus time working on the next phase of the book.
It was snowy, cloudy, rainy — perfect in its own way. We spent a few days there writing, thinking, and working through ideas. No distractions. No noise. Real progress on something we both care a lot about.
Just space.
It felt like a reset, but also an important continuation of the whole direction I was heading. Literally and figuratively.
Seeing something you helped build
Thursday morning, we wrapped up in the mountains and headed back to Hollis.
That day ended up being one of the most meaningful parts of the trip.
I got to sit in on Ashima’s team meeting — a “regular” meeting, nothing staged. I had never met most of the team in person.
Years ago, Ashima had come to me for help building her team.
And here it was.
Not an idea. Not a plan. Not something we talked about.
A real team. In a room. Working. Functioning. Perfectly imperfect – exactly what we had envisioned – maybe even better – no, definitely better than I could have hoped for her and Lynn.
After that, we all went to a team event together with some of their clients. No surprise, the clients and vendors were as lovely and unique as the team.
At one point at the event, one of the vendors recognized the hat I was wearing, from where my daughter rides horses in Florida. She owns and rides horses up in the New Hampshire/Mass area, and we, of course, had a lovely conversation about all of that.
That kind of overlap… it just kept happening on this trip.
The soundtrack shows up
On the way back from Hollis, I stopped in Tiverton, Rhode Island to see a long-time friend from the industry, but not because he was in the industry. Another magical confluence of people, nature, and good energy. I’m listening…
After that, I just drove.
No big plan. Just heading south, staying off the main highways where I could.
I passed through Bethlehem without really thinking about it at first.
Then it clicked.
Easter eve. Bethlehem. The birthplace of Peeps. Completely unplanned.
And then later, I stopped in Allentown — not because I planned to, but because I was tired and it felt like the right place to stop, get a shower, and reset before a long push home.
That’s when it all lined up.
I put on the song “Allentown” by Billy Joel.
I’ve heard that song my whole life. I’ve played bass live (more than twice) – with Liberty DeVitto and Mark Rivera – long-time drummer and saxophone/keys/vox with Billy.
But this time was different.
I was there. In it.
PLUS, the song is about technology quickly changing an industry and the aftermath of that – might be relevant if you want to give it a listen
And my entire music library was on shuffle the whole trip home from Hollis – no plan, no playlists.
Every song felt different.
Songs I’ve known forever suddenly felt like they were about me, not someone else.
Like they’d been waiting for the right context to land.
The final stretch
The next morning, it was simple.
A long push home.
Twelve hours, give or take.
No drama, no traffic battles, just a steady drive south.
I pulled into Alpharetta right around midnight.
What it actually was
On paper, this was:
- A drive to a retreat.
- A few stops.
- A return home.
But in reality, it was:
- A chapel where my parents started their life together.
- A house that held 50 years of family history.
- A field I’d only ever seen on TV, completely empty.
- A team I once helped design, now real and thriving.
- A conversation that turned into a connection I didn’t expect.
- A soundtrack that somehow knew exactly where I was.
- A place to stop that I didn’t plan — but needed.
It wasn’t just a trip.
It was alignment.
And those are rare.
