I have never more precisely measured the distance from my childhood home to my current life.
Through the amazing generosity of my parents and a willingness to adventure, P and I spent the last week finding our way back across this great land in a new-to-us Prius.
As we drove (and drove and drove and drove) I watched the scenery change from the gorges of Oregon, to bison crossing in Wyoming, to the moonscape of the Badlands, to the corn (and corn and corn and corn) of the Midwest, eventually to the welcoming fall colors of our rural Maine abode.
More than once I was so thankful to have the gift of actually seeing some of what the further reaches of the US have to offer (giant bizarre statues are super popular, y’all), and the sheer ability to make this kind of trek.
The snow fell in Yellowstone, the wind whipped in South Dakota, the beers flowed in balmy St. Paul, the colors of autumn exploded from Ohio to New Hampshire.
The movement and freedom (despite our tight timeline) was a gift.
All too often I feel stuck – for whatever reason – work, existential angst, anger at Congress, ‘that kind of day,’ – whatever excuse I find.
Driving forced me to realize how greatly ‘unstuck’ I really am. The wheels kept moving, covering not only physical distance but that of myself. The ground I’ve covered to feel, be and become who I really am.
Part of that means letting go of who I was, no matter if that was good, bad, or indifferent. It is not who I am, nor who I will be.
Forward is the only direction. Now is the only time.