In reality, it only costs about 10 minutes. Maybe a bit more, maybe less.

But at the time, it feels way more significant than it may ultimately turn out to be. And it could ultimately ruin your plans, depending on where and when it happens.

And it definitely feels like you should have been paying more attention to where you were.

Anyone who has ever driven an interstate highway has experienced the dreaded moment at least once. If you haven’t yet: Just keep driving. It’s coming, I promise.

You’re scooting along down the interstate, maybe digging the tunes, an engaging podcast, or an engrossing audiobook, while simultaneously noshing on some crunchy goodies and ticking down the minutes until arrival. If you’re a true Midwestern dad, like me, you may even be feeling super proud of your ability to shave off a significant amount of time from a journey, the length of which, we are confident would leave most denizens of the coastlands a puddle of anxiety, and running for the nearest airport.

But then, the GPS (or your navigator, perhaps your wife or someone else perched in the front passenger seat) calls out to you that it is time to exit. Or maybe, if you’re flying solo, you can’t blame anyone else.

Either way, however, you are left with that sinking feeling of watching that important exit fly away in the rearview mirror, forcing you to recompute your route and calculating just how much time you may have lost.

This year, as ever, once the weather clears, my crew and I will be hitting the road for our annual road trips, galavanting across the country in pursuit of family fun and adventure.

The formula will be much the same as in the past: Dad, seated (mostly) in the driver’s seat, cutting down the ETA. Mom, co-captaining the trip, in charge of making sure Dad stays awake and on course.

The kiddos, in the back seat, handling their dual tasks: Handing out the snacks and drinks, while trying to (hopefully) keep their opinions and their hands to themselves and in their own zone until we arrive.

But this year, a new variable has been introduced. Perhaps it might be best to think of it as a navigation complication which, like that aforementioned proverbial missed highway exit, we didn’t see coming:

A summer job.

Perhaps that’s the wrong term. The job, to be clear, started long before the arrival of even the first warm spring day. And the plan is for the employment to continue for some time after the first leaves fall.

But no matter how you describe it, this summer, for the first time, our vacation plans must account for a teenager’s ability to take time off.

In some ways, it feels rather ironic. For the last few decades, my bride and I have spent an inordinate amount of time and effort pursuing career options which would allow us to travel as we like, while still having a full-time, salaried job that pays the bills awaiting our return.

The desire was inspired by conversations with older couples years ago. Much like the evergreen Facebook meme, these couples told us unanimously: Don’t wait until you retire to travel.

In fact, they said, be certain to travel with your kids, as much as possible - preferably before they become adults and perhaps have kids of their own.

The reasons were two-fold. For one, they said, the longer you wait, the more likely it is your body and demands of life will conspire to limit your ability to mosey off to the places and experiences you desire.

And two, once the kids pull into adulthood, their schedules suddenly matter as much as your own.

So for the past 18 years or so, we have wheeled and dealed to amass as much PTO as possible, and made sure to use as much of it as possible away from home, hopefully including a trip somewhere new along the way.

The planning process for those annual sojourns typically would begin in earnest shortly after Thanksgiving the year before, or - at worst - Christmas. And this year’s trip-planning was no different, as we pieced together what we hoped would be an epic trip out visit the West Coast.

But then the monkey wrench landed in the gears with the words: “So, I got a job.”

Now, don’t misunderstand. We are immensely proud of the kid. And we know she will be much better for the experience.

But at the same time, the announcement and ensuing conversations between her and her boss led to three inescapable conclusions:

One, as parents who endeavor to model responsible behavior to our young ones, we know our summer vacation plans will require substantial route adjustments.

Two, while we knew this day was coming, it still felt as if we should have been paying more attention and should have done more to account for the time.

And three: This is likely just the latest of many more life recomputations to come, as the kid’s childhood fades off into the distance in the rearview mirror.