”Are We There Yet?” And Other Existential Questions from the Backseat

I don’t want to be dramatic, but family travel is a little like surviving a small-scale apocalypse. Except instead of zombies, you’re fending off rogue juice boxes, hangry toddlers, and one highly suspicious motel bedspread. Still, every year, we pile into the car/minivan/SUV-with-a-rooftop-cargo-box-that-makes-it-look-like-we’re-smuggling-canoes and hit the road with dreams of togetherness, adventure, and exactly zero cell reception.

And we do it on purpose.

Why? Because travel—real, messy, snack-crumb-in-the-seatbelt-clip travel—has a magical way of turning your family into a sitcom cast you actually like. (Most days.)

Chapter 1: The Departure Delusion

Ah, departure day. We tell ourselves we’ll leave at 7:00 a.m. sharp. Coffee’s brewed, itinerary printed, everyone’s wearing their best “Instagram casual” outfits. But by 9:45 a.m., someone’s crying (usually me), someone’s lost a shoe on their foot, and Dad’s Googling “how to fix a roof box that fell off at a gas station.”

At this point, I whisper my annual travel prayer: Lord, grant me the patience of a TSA agent at peak holiday traffic.

Chapter 2: The Open Road & Other Opportunities for Character Development

As the miles stretch on, so do the questions:

• “Are we there yet?”
• “Can I have a snack?”
• “Can I have another snack?”
• “Can I eat my sibling?”

We break out the travel bingo cards, but by Hour Three, the only box we’ve checked is “Mom threatens to turn this car around.” I play DJ, therapist, and amateur hostage negotiator, all while handing out Goldfish like communion wafers.

But then, somewhere between the roadside dinosaur museum and the world’s largest ball of yarn (why is this a thing?), the chaos quiets. We’re all watching the sunset from the car window. Someone laughs—really laughs—and I realize: this right here is why we do this.

Chapter 3: The Lodging Lottery

Finding a hotel that’s both affordable and not haunted is a sport. I once booked a place described as “rustic charm” that turned out to be 80% termites, 20% old lace curtains.

Still, we gather in one cramped room, brushing our teeth in shifts, arguing over who gets the top bunk, and declaring war over the thermostat. And in those too-thin hotel blankets, somehow, we sleep.

We dream.

We snore (loudly).

And in the morning, we wake up a little grumpy, but still… together.

Chapter 4: The Return Home & the Unpacking of the Soul

When we finally return, sun-kissed and slightly feral, we unload bags full of sandy socks, mysterious receipts, and that one weird souvenir no one remembers buying (is it… a voodoo spoon?). But our hearts? Full.

Family travel isn’t about perfection. It’s about shared stories. The ones that start with “Remember when…” and end in fits of laughter around the dinner table years later.

We travel not because it’s easy. We travel because somewhere in the mess of missed exits and mismatched socks, we find pieces of each other that everyday life tries to bury under laundry and to-do lists.

So to all the brave souls loading up their minivans this season: I see you. I salute you. And I pray your kids don’t drop an open yogurt in the seat cushions. (Again.)

And just remember—every “Are we there yet?” is just another reminder that, yes, you are going somewhere beautiful.

Together.

Messily. Hilariously. Wonderfully.