“Two things are certain. First, when you go home, everything will be exactly as it was before you left. And second, you won’t be the same at all.” Baron Baptiste
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Last week I left the SUV that’s been my traveling companion since March at the Seattle airport in order to fly back to Minnesota. No, I’m not done with this adventure. But, I had a previous engagement back home that I needed to attend, and so I temporarily put my wanderings on hold.
Caption: my brother and me at the Symphony Ball this past weekend
It was bittersweet to leave the West. No matter how beautiful Minnesota is in the summer, there is no substitute for what it feels like to stand in silence within an old growth grove of Redwoods; to look out into an ancient volcanic crater after hiking hours through the snow; or falling asleep in fields of wildflowers that are perched along a cliff above the Pacific. I miss the rocks, the trees, and the waters of the west like I’d miss members of my family. But more than just the places, I miss what it feels like to be single mindedly focused on a quest. I miss the omnipresent sense of power and purpose that gave – and how every moment it was up to me, and me alone, where I wanted to go next. And in that state of possibility and discovery, I miss the near constant sense of anticipation, excitement, serendipity, and wonder all at once.
Despite all that, I also feel thankful for the pause. For one thing, it’s been a true joy to reconnect with so many people (friends and acquaintances alike) who I have not spoken to or seen since I left. While some of these meetings were planned, many more were unexpected. For instance, this evening one of my old bosses showed up at the restaurant I was at. I felt a surge of excitement and warmth upon seeing him – far greater than I ever felt while we worked together. In fact, the feelings were so strong that when he went to shake my hand I actually (without thinking) moved passed his outstretched hand and wrapped him in a big embrace.
Caption: my cousin and me at our favorite climbing gym yesterday
Not only with my boss, but with many people, it’s been gratifying to be told how much I’ve changed. Some of these changes I suspected. Others, like the hugging of my old boss, caught me totally off guard. It’s been helpful for me to both hear others give voice to these changes, and also for me then observe them in myself. In contrast, in my own reflections, it’s easy for me to fixate on (1) how I’m frustrated by the ways I haven’t changed, or (2) what’s my plan for addressing the things that I think still need to be changed. Going forward, I’d like to become more intentional in noting what needs to be done now, AND also appreciate myself when I make changes.
These few days back home have also been giving me an opportunity to begin to reflect more holistically on everything that’s happened this year – a task I’m realizing is literally impossible in just a few days. Saying I visited 18 national parks, hiked 600 miles, and stayed in 59 different campsites or beds during this period gives one some context, but those facts alone do not give any perspective to the scale of the emotional and intellectual landscapes I’ve been concurrently navigating. Nor do they capture the monumental shifts that occurred in the months prior to me heading out on the road.
And amid this all, I’m also trying to find a sense of stillness in order to know what should come next. I’m still discerning that, but in the meantime one thing has become extremely clear to me. I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the way you all have walked beside me in spirit on this first leg of my journey. This blog (which I was terrified to create – and would not have done without encouragement from my brother and mother) has become such a powerful source of purpose and strength for me. Writing these entries has helped me to reflect more deeply. Those reflections have given me clarity and courage to change the direction of my journey repeatedly. Sharing my feelings opening in this forum has helped reinforce for me how life-giving vulnerability can be. And knowing a community of people I care about is reading my words has given me succor so many times on nights when I’m feeling most alone.
Thank you for walking beside me these first three months. I can’t wait to discover what we’ll find together in the next chapter.
