To go, or not go. Wherever we trip to – work or play, serious reason or inane cause – not to stroke off some list, and yes, to do that too; there is magic in doing, in going, in moving bodily in fresh directions. While returning has restorative qualities (sore back loves familiar bed), those experiences far outweigh that, seeing, doing, laughing at life’s absurdities. Other windows. Other places …
Returning from trips – sweet relief, reflection on whole – in many respects wishing I could have gone longer, gone further, gone about some things differently or gone a different route. Balance, incomplete pleasure, insufficient leisure – about restoring calm while movie-like review replays in mind, everywhere I was, everything I saw.
Alone with one’s thoughts on a long trip – interrupted by gas station chats for bathroom directions, or with a store owner offering Halloween treats with my purchase – customs officer curiosity, where I’d been, how long I’d been gone, rolling her eyes at distance travelled, reason for the trip and my only purchases to declare, two books. I shuddered at thought of full luggage search. They would have been so disappointed to find only two books purchased on a 2,000 mile journey.
Every journey, simple steps.
Reasons for going? Doesn’t matter. What you do, doesn’t matter. Who or what you see doesn’t matter. Those are just places, just things.
What matters, more than all else – those many hours.
Alone. With my thoughts.
written / published from Calgary, AB
morning walk: -1C/31F, chilly, alone [going to pick up Gusta shortly], familiar streets, no mountain valley awe-moments, no driving up through clouds and down again, just home, just comfortable …
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