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Road Trip Life

By September 4, 2014 Featured, Jonathan

Doors open with a burst of air-conditioned air, a smile, “How many nights?”  “7 or 70” days or years, I reply unaware.  We settle in, I love to settle in, loved ones gathered.  Bright linen beds, artwork on the wall, everything tidy, neatly folded.  I don’t know the departure date, and that’s the way I like it.  I despise goodbyes.  I love to arrive, I hate to leave.

Time on life’s road, full of pristine sights, rolling-in-the-grassy-garden experiences, lighthearted rest stops, simple picnic meals, surrounded by the elegance of you, together.  Filling dull hours with music or words I love.  At work I find creative play, at play I find creative work.

On this long fleeting road, waving to smiling faces in other cars, changing a flat tire, and even breaking down, letting the rain pour down over a steaming hot engine, the coolness of a breeze flowing in, unaware, that you care so much.

Rich sun and rain days, gray or blue, many clouds or few.  Passing fields, natural parks, tall buildings, emptiness and busy-ness, wilderness and cities.  Bugs splat against the screen, traffic jams, the driving unsettledness crazes without and even within.  Unless I am reminded that I don’t need moreJust you, together, traveling to that last lasting home.

The days feel slow yet swiftly go.  The wind floods in the open windows, giving breath to velocity, towards eternity, free of the need to slow down, or go too fast.  Sometimes I go too slowly, sometimes too fast, they say either can cause an accident.  So I stick to the country roads, the scenic route, where both slow and fast are possible, welcomed.  Deftly dodging the sheep and kangaroos, speeding past the barren land, sauntering on the streets of spring.

    Driving against the traffic—slowing down in the bustle, racing through the lies.

And it’s hard, to do things differently.

I don’t live in a hotel, yet sometimes I feel like life is rushing past so swiftly, like a seaside storm, that our little rented apartment, up on a hill of a seaside town, nestled in green salty misty days, is like a hotel.  You’re welcome here at this stop on the road trip, the next stop not yet planned or sought out.  And I can glimpse a land far off where all my traveling friends and family may meet, sure it has something to do with a person who knows the perfect route and a long-ago, often-forgotten day.  For now, all I can do is follow this Way, be in this place I’m in, this moment, this grace.  Together, before we are forever.

By Jonathan McCallum


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