At this stage of my life, I am choosing enjoyment on purpose. I wish I had learned it sooner, but learning it now still feels like a gift. Travel makes that choice easier. The days are not perfect, yet the chance to wake somewhere beautiful and decide to make the most of it is a kind of freedom I did not have in my younger years.
On good days I start by stepping outside, even if it is only to the chair beside the door. A short wander past a few campsites loosens the stiffness that settles in when I sit too long. When I was recovering from a broken hip, I used a walker and still made it outside to catch sun on my face. Some days that was the win. It counted.
Comfort helps joy stay around, so I found an outdoor chair I truly like. The right seat keeps me out there longer, watching the light change on the trees or the sky shift behind the mountains. Your chair might be a zero-gravity lounger, a padded camp chair, or something simple with a small pillow tucked behind your neck. What matters is that it invites you back.
People help too. Most campers are friendly and happy to chat for a minute as they walk by. When we had a corner site, conversation found us. Vixen certainly helps; she believes everyone should say hello and is not shy about suggesting it. Some of those quick chats turn into long-term friendships. Others are passing kindness and that is perfect. I keep a few simple cards with my name, phone, and email so swapping info takes ten seconds and no energy.
On days when my body wants motion but not miles, we go for a drive. Getting “lost” has led us to our favorite memories, from quiet little towns with good food to the kind of views you pull over for without speaking. Your phone can always guide you back home, so let curiosity lead. Heated seats or a small plug-in heating pad can turn the car into a rolling comfort station, and I lean into soft leggings or shorts and loose shirts, so the ride feels easy.
The bucket list is a great starting place, but I also ask the campground office or a local visitor center what they love. There is almost always a surprise nearby, a waterfall, a tiny museum, a scenic overlook, that never showed up in my search. Even on low-energy days you can see plenty from the passenger seat and still feel like you have touched the place you are in.
And if I cannot get out at all, I open the blinds and let the view do the work. From the couch or bed, I have watched mountains and trees, cows and horses, clouds coming and going. Beauty does not require me to be on my feet. It only asks me to notice.
Will there be bad days? Probably. Can you still enjoy the road on those days? Usually. Some days comfort looks like a warm drink, quiet music, and a soft blanket while the world moves outside your window. That would be true in a house too, just without the changing scenery. The heart of it is simple. Each day is what we make of it. If we keep choosing small, good things, fresh air, a kind conversation, a scenic detour, a view through the window, the trip becomes a string of moments worth keeping.