Road trips always begin with unlimited optimism.

Everyone is smiling. The car is clean. Snacks are perfectly organized. Someone announces, “This is going to be fun!” Those are famous last words.

Exactly twelve minutes into the drive, someone asks, “Are we there yet?” Another person has to use the bathroom, even though everyone was specifically told to go before leaving. The GPS confidently promises you’ll arrive on time, while traffic has completely different plans.

Then comes the music debate.

One person wants classic rock. Another wants country. Someone insists on playing the same pop song for the fifteenth time. Eventually, everyone agrees on silence because somehow that’s less stressful.

Gas station stops become mini vacations. Nobody walks in planning to spend money, yet everyone walks out carrying beef jerky, gummy bears, a giant soda, sunglasses they didn’t need, and a souvenir mug they’ll never use again.

And let’s not forget the backseat driver. Every family has one. They don’t actually know a better route, but they confidently say things like, “I wouldn’t have gone this way,” despite having absolutely no idea where they are.

By the end of the trip, everyone is tired, slightly annoyed, and convinced they’ll never do it again.

Then someone finds an old photo from the trip six months later.

Suddenly, all anyone remembers are the laughs, the terrible sing-alongs, the random roadside attractions, and the memories that somehow became funnier with time.

Maybe that’s the secret of road trips.

They’re not enjoyable while they’re happening.

They’re hilarious once you survive them.