Once I get the taste of true adventure - the savory palette of new places and unknown people - I would keep driving until I find a tiny humble town half-way across the country that nobody has ever heard of and I would plant my roots right then and there. Or whatever town in which the car breaks down.

I can only imagine how amazing solo cross-country road trips could be. I picture myself driving along an empty back road with the windows down, Guns n Roses playing "14 years," and warm summer air blowing through the cab of my truck. A farm stand full of ripe tomatoes and zucchini sits along the roadway. A dog lounges in the backyard of his homestead, faithfully watching two children chase each other in a game of tag.

Fast forward to an evening in a small Georgia town in mid-summer where it's 80 degrees in the shade. I might find a home-spun tavern where the locals drink Jack and Coke over ice. Friends build a bonfire in the backyard next door. As an obvious traveling stranger, the people would certainly take me under their wing for a night of entertainment.

A few refreshing drinks, a little country line dancing, and some of the best fried chicken imaginable, then I'd be off to sleep for the night. Surely, I would park my truck in a field along a quiet back road and sleep in the bed under the southern stars.

A few hundred miles down the road and I might end up in Nashville. Maybe I'd shamelessly flirt my way into a backstage pass and meet a country musician whom I've loved since childhood. If I'm lucky, I'll end up like William Miller in "Almost Famous" and get to tour with a band for a few months. As a "Band-Aid," I might see the country from a tour bus. I might also feel the thrill of a fleeting summer crush. And at the end of it, I might write an eye-opening think-piece about the band.

Next, I roll into New Orleans and drop a few coins into a flashy slot machine while sipping sugared margaritas. A young red-haired woman seated next to me begins chatting about a Mardi Gras themed party in her hotel room that night. Her charm bracelet jingles as she waves her hands about and describes the out-of-this-world music and dancing. How can I say no to that? I'm only in this town for a short time. I must live it up.

Ideally, I would then walk out of that casino with a few extra dollars in hand. With that money and the room number for the party, I venture out to find some kind of purple, gold, and green accessories. A party store (conveniently) nearby supplies every kind of purple/green/gold necklace, bracelet, tiara, feather boa, etc. you can imagine.

Late that night, I take the elevator to the top floor of the grand hotel. The elevator smells of lavender and fresh cotton. Bumping music rattles through the doors as they slide open. Women in minimal skirts and crop tops mingle with drinks in hand. I feel terribly overdressed in a tank top and jean shorts, but that's nothing a drink or two can't fix.

The four rooms at the end of the hall are full of laughing, dancing, happy people. Thankfully, I spot the red-haired woman in the hallway, talking to two gorgeous guys and holding her drink to her chest. She turns to me, smiles ecstatically, and holds out her hand to me.

"Come with me, let's get you a drink. I'll introduce you to some new friends!"

I follow obligingly. Speakers blast electro-swing while tipsy ladies sway back and forth with each other. The red-haired woman pours me something fruity and pulls me towards another hotel room.

"It's quieter over here. We can talk a little better for now."

The night melts away into dubstep, drinks, and dancing with beautiful people.

My road trip might end in Montana, in the smallest town you've never heard of near Glacier National Park.

Once I see the breathtaking mountains and river valleys of The Big Sky Country, I will dig my roots in deep and never look back. I could walk through the woods for miles and never see another person. My soul would be free and happy. I could photograph every adventure and write about every person I meet.

And I would never come HOME.

The life I built in Pennsylvania would be gone forever. Friends would have to hear my stories through text messages. Parents would only see me on holidays few and far between. And my loving significant other would either need to join me in the west or accept my distance.

But I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't separate myself from all I have here. I care more about how others feel about me than where I want to be in this world.

This is why I will never embark on a cross-country road trip.