So much of this road trip has been a blur. I suppose it is unavoidable given time constraints and mileage.
Today is different. I set the iPhone on record and this is what I said:
Driving through west Texas. For the first time since I’ve left Massachusetts I feel like I can breathe again.
I know that this isn’t what anybody on the East Coast or in the Deep South would consider beautiful. But, when I see oil pumps like I remember from when I was a child in North Dakota; and when I see miles and miles of miles and miles my heart leaps in my chest.
There are old, broken down mobile homes with rust streaks down the sides, old cars either broken down or sitting in the sun waiting for a driver. Long trains wind down tracks near the road. There are signs over gates announcing ranches; beyond it all I see the horizon. I see the vault of the heavens.
Instead of being blocked in on all sides by cars and people and trees I can see wide-open spaces. I’m not feeling as if I’m locked in a small space with no way to get out.
I’m reminded of my childhood in North Dakota with the burning coal mines, the Badlands, and the gently rolling hills. I’m reminded of Idaho and the wide-open spaces full of sagebrush and rattlesnakes. I’m reminded of the vast spaces of the place I love most on this Earth – Alaska. Open. Wild. Free.
I am not a City Slicker. I never have been. I’ve learned to endure. Thank all that is holy that I don’t have to endure any longer.