Sitting at his kitchen table amidst the photographs and the national park brochures, he asks, "What part of your trip are you most excited about?"
And I freeze. I freeze with the paralysis of a child forced to choose between cotton candy and ice cream. The expanse of what lies ahead is just too far reaching and I don't yet have mental picture of exactly what I'm undertaking. My body craves the vibrating hum of tires against asphalt and my eyes want to drown in blurry scenery and my mind wants to stumble upon fresh perspectives that banal routines fiercely block.
But like most of our conversations, genuine expression is impossible. So I simply say, "Everything."
But now in retrospect, everything isn't something to look forward to... because I wake up in my 7th strange bed in my 15th strange state and wonder what the hell I'm doing. My defense mechanisms draw my knees up to my chest and I wonder if it's possible to mail myself back to Boston, just like the postcards and stamps I send each day. Everything is a Grand Canyon sunrise completely obscured by snow and a stroke victim vacantly looking into my eyes while clinging to the thinnest thread of hope. Everything is constant and labored regret over each possibility snuffed out in the turning point of decision after decision after decision.
I want to take just one or two steps back and study the patterns. I want the opportunity to highlight the symbolism and the chiaroscuro. I want to take my brief moments of realization and understanding and peace and string them together to tell a bigger story about what I'm doing out here in this desert and atop these mountain passes. But the road is endless and the changing scenery erases all that came before, the good bits and the bad bits, both. And my soul feels empty like the plain white backing of a picturesque postcard.
There are nights when I sleep restlessly and nights when I talk to strangers and nights when I can't remember anything but uninterrupted solitude. And there are moments that I curse my reckless expectations and pin my damage to them without question. And then the Wyoming dusk turns the world a dusty shade of periwinkle. And when everything drops from me in that icy instant, I close my eyes and pray to remember the isolation and the magic burned atop one another in the deepest part of me. Because I'm changing out here.
I can feel it.
What do you feel?