blanket fort in motion

I’m being a little preemptive here, with my end-of-trip emotional outburst. But, I suppose the flood comes when it will.

It’s been exactly three months since I started this trip. Since I left my home. Today I’m heading right back to the beginning, ever-so-close-to, but-not-quite my home. Still, Vancouver is home-esque. It’s got the weather and the scenery and the general pnw vibe. It’ll suffice, but probably it’ll just make me sad about missing out on two whole seasons in my preferred part of the world. Even so, I’m excited to spend several days on a train traversing Canadian countryside. So far most people who’ve asked about it wince upon hearing ‘three days, four nights’ in response to their ‘wow, how long does that even take?’

To be fair, I guess I’ve gotten used to long journeys. Not only do they not bother me, I genuinely enjoy long durations of changing landscape. I’m realizing more and more how my introvertedness affects my being. And I am quite simply not someone who likes or needs to have an exceptionally packed or varied schedule. I realize this sounds silly, in contrast to the fact that I’ve been on the road for ninety days in dozens of cities across this country. I get that. But the truth is, I need a lot of down time, even while traveling. I need a lot of just sitting and thinking time. A lot of doing normal everyday things time. A lot of not talking to anyone or distracting myself with anything time. Somehow my particular brand of traveling is both way outside of most people’s comfort zones, and simultaneously too boring for the average (non-introverted) person. I had several conversations with Lu about the concept of there being this idea of what people ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t’ do in any given situation. When in reality, we get to do what we want. We get to do what works for us. We get to do what makes us feel content. Why is there a ‘should’? I still feel weird about detailing the events of an average day of my traveling, because sometimes it doesn’t seem like ‘enough’. Like I’m supposed to do more, see more, experience more. But the fact is, I do the things that are important to me, and the things that I enjoy. I think that’s enough. I think that’s exactly as it should be.

Suffice to say, a several day train journey of reading, writing, listening to music, people watching, scenery gazing, and whatever other small activities sounds fantastic. It’ll be nice to have an uninterrupted period to process these last three months.

It’s been superb. I’ve seen a smattering of sunsets across the wide skyspan of this country. I have gotten to participate in summer from west to east across the States, and fall from south to north. I’ve cliff jumped into streams, tubed down rivers, swam in lakes and oceans. I’ve hiked mountains and forests and the length of an entire city. I’ve taken trains and buses and planes and cars and semis and bikes and boats and golf carts and subways and streetcars. I’ve spent precious time with my closest friends, weeks with my immediate family and several days with extended family, spent time with friends I haven’t seen in years, with countless strangers, and with strangers who have decidedly become friends, and with a goodly amount of puppy and kitten friends, too. I’ve experienced three items on my list of thirty-four things to do before I die. I’ll experience two more by the time I finish. I turned twenty-seven. I hit three countries.

These diverse moments, this patchwork of life experiences I get to have, are always so meaningful to me. Something about all of these things in view of one another, all of these things contrasting and connecting each other – there’s something so overwhelming about it all. A revelation of viewing this existence with a regard I can only muster after being flooded by it’s amazing scope. There are days where my life doesn’t feel full or satisfying, but these days I can feel only the richness of being a human in this mesmerizing world. These days even the negative things that I experience have their proper balance to them, where I cannot be harmed by my own lack of perspective. What I am left with, after ninety days, is that this life was meant to be lived so intentionally, so depthfully.