These nine weeks of travel have mostly been good to me. I’ve learned a lot about myself. Before beginning this trip I understood that a day exploring outdoor destinations would have one thing in common with a day spent indoors at work: it would mean that I and my loved ones were mostly OK on that particular day; it would mean that I and my loved ones were mostly healthy and in no need of medical treatment or facilities; it would mean that I and my loved ones were not in harm’s way. I learned that lesson years ago, and try never to need reminder.
But I am not a “full-time RVer” and I don’t want to be. And so there will always be an appropriate time to go home. It will feel good to bask in the luxuries of a foundational house: a bathtub; a washer/dryer; and all the luxuries that go with middle class ‘burb living.
This trip has reaffirmed what I already knew: my life seems best spent when I am surrounded by Mother Nature’s creation. I will write future blog posts to unpack some of my lessons learned and some of my human experiences from this first extended travel. But today it is time to bring this trip to closure.
I take one last solo walk at my beloved South Llano Park. Walking the bottomland that hugs the river gives me sanctuary to reflect on this almost perfect nine-week and four-state trip.
I contemplate one of my favorite expressions, and one that remains a dichotomy to me: “All good things must come to an end.”
Those who have gone through the ups and downs of life’s situations and circumstances may embrace a personal understanding of this age-old quote. Those who believe in the creation of Mother Nature’s fabric, a secret-sauce recipe that superimposes matter and energy into an eternal tapestry, may partly question this human-sourced quote. And those who contemplate the “I Am” instantiation of Mother Nature, as present-tense-only, may simply throw this quote into the huge bucket of human-made dogma.I stop and listen to the sounds of wrens, chickadees, titmice and woodpeckers, all going about the busyness of their lives. Turkeys and deer cross the path ahead and a Belted Kingfisher raucously flies down the middle of the river on my right. I am not important to any of them as long as I don’t impact their little corner of this world.
I walk down to the river and drink in the view. I remind myself of the human pretense of solitude and the human need for relationship and community. I think of the sisterhood of friends that have come into and mostly gone out of my life.It is time for me to go home. But if only, oh sisterhood, we could go down to the river to pray…