Freedom Ride: The Pickup Load That Let Me Go

Freedom Ride: The Pickup Load That Let Me Go

I loaded my old workout bench into the back of my blue 1994 Dodge. She’s a beauty — 307,000 km and still purrs like a happy cat. But this wasn’t just about a broken bench.

Something told me that bench didn’t deserve a quiet end. It had betrayed me mid-morning workout, collapsing while I tied my shoes. Fortunately, all my teeth are still in place — but the message was clear: It’s time to clear the clutter.

And not just the broken bench.

I started gathering old gear. Sketchy equipment I’d repaired with tape and prayer. Bits and pieces that had served their time. And then came the kicker — stuff that didn’t even belong to me. Items the narcissist from my past had somehow expected me to store indefinitely. Emotional junk in physical form.

Into the truck it all went.

And as I drove to the dump, something shifted. Not just the weight in the bed of the pickup, but the weight I’d been carrying in my chest. The stories, the “maybe someday I’ll need this,” the energy of obligations never agreed to — all tossed onto the pile.

At the dump, I smiled. I mean really smiled. A grin from the guts. That moment of release… it wasn’t about the stuff. It was about reclaiming personal power.

Then I hit the highway. Windows down. Music up. Singing louder than I should. And I swear, that old Dodge had a little more pep in her step.

Because I wasn’t just driving — I was moving forward.

Ready to reclaim a little power of your own? Start small. One drawer. One shelf. One forgotten corner. Let it go — and feel the road rise to meet you.