it is a tough time to travel. at least for me. i feel – well – safer at home these days. tucked into our sweet old house doing our thing.
but we had an opportunity to visit old friends, see new things, experience a different landscape. and we were fortunate enough to be able to take it.
this place we have traveled to – beautiful. another part of this stunning sea to shining sea. we move about airports with thousands of people – all different – with languages and accents and clothing choices and faces all swimming around us. such diversity. we can feel the riches of this melting pot.
and we miss home. where our dogga waits for us and 20 has dinner hot. where our studios and our pillows are. where no make-up and sweats are a default. where we sous-chef and cook side by side in our old kitchen, nourishing not just our bodies but our souls as well.
it doesn’t take new eyes to see it all. but the gentle reminder is always a good thing.
to go and come back.
nothing like it.
“the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” (marcel proust)
this is age-old, like an aesop’s fable, like a timeworn adage, like a proverbial proverb. there are likely even petroglyphs chiseled into rocky canyon walls telling this story for all time: for the most part (and i don’t use all-encompassing language on purpose, for always there are exceptions) packing is not the same for men as it is for women.
as much as i would love to pack light, to pack smart, to pack minimally, it is apparently not in my dna strands to do so. and so i will succumb to the challenge – every time. i will wake in the night and review my list, try on my choices. i will list and cross out and list again. i will ponder and try to imagine every scenario in which i need clothing, try to anticipate every need.
it’s exhausting.
when i traveled a lot – playing concerts and shows – i was much better at packing. i have gotten out of the habit (and into a different body, let’s not forget) and so it requires much more thought, much more ruminating, perseverating even. good grief! it’s a full-time job getting ready.
i’m pretty sure it will take him about twenty minutes to pack. que sera sera.
in the meanwhile, i’ll be over here bearing, climbing and fording my burden, mountain and river. whatever.
most of my friends who are my age are retired. they have had long and dedicated careers and, at the time of retirement, chose to retire and were ready to change directions and do something new.
some of them are grandparents now and wee babies and rambunctious toddlers, children growing, growing, take up their time. precious moments spent with these tinies, indelibly etched on their hearts, both.
some of them have chosen to spend time immersed in reading. they have cultivated friend groups who share their passion for diving into books, they discuss and ask questions and share.
some of them have opted for sizing up, adding acreage and livestock to their lives. i can think of no better example of this than linda who, with bill, has adopted multiple alpaca and a horse and a goat and the-most-adorable-donkeys.
others have elected sizing down, heading south, condos and pools and beaches and sun in their future.
some, like the wander women, have chosen a plan, shedding much of the life paraphernalia we all accumulate – absolute free and loose adventure in their sixties, opening themselves up to thru-hike and bike and camp and, inbetween, live full-time in their rv.
and some feel lost, trying on various hobbies for size, seeking satisfaction and fulfillment, an elusive goal.
i am not retired. i am no longer holding a we-pay-you-to-do-this-job but i’m not retired. i haven’t quite figured it all out yet, much like, well, probably, many of you. but i spend lots of time creating…writing, cartooning, writing. i have found birds and plants are speaking to me more these days and i have also found that i don’t require being around a lot of people. i guess i’m a little bit more introverted than i thought.
people have told me that – in losing my last position in a four decades long career path of music ministry – i can redefine. they, in all innocence and with sincerity, have told me that it’s an opportunity for a new beginning. i hasten to say that they might be sighing inside to themselves as they say this, grateful that they don’t have to start anew. we’ve all done it…sometimes it’s easier to be generously gracious when it’s not your challenge. nevertheless, it does feel like a new beginning, so that part is right.
but, in seeking inspiration, coming from life, from the universe, from reading an article, from a conversation, from moments blowing dry my hair, i realize that maybe in looking forward i am avoiding that which is obvious.
linda had more time to pick up knitting needles after she retired. she uses the wool from her alpaca, which she has cleaned and spins, to create beautiful knitted gifts. my favorite fingerless gloves, the ones that always remind me of the canyonlands with my beloved daughter, were made by her. she returned – in this time of a-little-more-space – to what she knew, what she loved to do.
the map of inspiration may bring me forward. but in its forward-ness, it may remind me also of what i know. the map might point out my waiting piano, the pencils scattered on the music stand, the boom mic stand in the corner. it might point out the pieces of writing i’ve started and put aside. it might point out the glee i get from producing our cartoon. it might point out the camera and the poetry and the ahhh’s they bring me. it might connect the dots back. to me.
texting with our son, who was about to attend a music festival out west, he wrote that i would probably like the artist. he sent a link to the teaser of above and beyond’s song “gratitude“. i followed the link, loved it, jaunted over to the full-length, and loved that.
the everest youtube paused, we followed the soundtrack song to find that new favorite i wrote about in may, “you and me“.
it is not likely we would have just stumbled upon either. there had to be a tiny opening, a tiny window, a door to something new.
explorations don’t have to be gigantic. they can be mini adventures, pocket-sized, teeny-weeny, a moseying into something unknown, a reminder that there-is-just-so-much-out-there. exploring creates a yearning to explore, a synergy of sorts, to keep-on-ing.
mary oliver, in her book, “long life”, writes of “what she calls ‘the little alleluias’ in her days and in her doings.” (frederic and mary ann brussat) those tiny noticings. micro adventures. “nature, animals, the soul, place, and literature.” and sound. and music. and touch. and color. and laughter. and cooking. and creating.
in these days we don’t get far. our roadtrip juju has been poking at us for months now; our last roam was in december. that’s a long time ago for two people who love roadtrips. but work and an intentional budget and, yes, covid, have kept us closer to home. “soon”, we say to each other, “soon.” and then we sigh. the mountains are calling, the coast and points north, family down south, family out west.
in the meanwhile, we scout out other exploring. we paint rocks and hide them. we dance on the deck. we listen to music we don’t know. we pay attention to the girl, the boy, friends tell us about things we might like. we use two tortillas instead of one.
last night we had the best pancakes for dinner. gluten-free. and real-live maple syrup. my niece sent me the link to them. breakfast for dinner. it’s not a trip to the mountains, but it gets us to the foothills of adventure. something different.
exploring is like snickers minibites. sometimes five grams of delicious feeds us.
reverse threading 