I planned my cross-country RV adventure to last 5 months, leaving August 2016. The plan: one month to reach Florida, 3 months in a volunteer position in Florida, 1 month returning to Idaho, taking the southern route. After the first 4 months and heaps of snow in the north that would hamper my travel, I slowed down. A month on Dauphin Island, AL turned into 2 months. A month here in Deming may expand to 2 months as well. My promise of a March homecoming morphs into a promise to be home by the end of May. I will be gone 10 months, double my original plan. I am claiming the freedom that comes with retirement.
The only part of my original plan that remains as it was when I left is the route, a giant curvy rectangle around the country. I could have taken a more direct route to Florida and shaved off 1000 miles, but I stopped in my hometown in Ohio, where my 87-year-old mom had surgery. What I did not realize on the conscious level is that my route would take me through the multitude of regions where I lived, turning this carefree jaunt into a reflective, memory-filled reflection on my life. I could have traipsed through my memories, the good and the bad, while sitting up in Idaho, but this road journey allowed me to walk in old neighborhoods, hike familiar terrain, feel the sand between my toes, smell familiar scents borne on the wind. In each place, my senses made the memories more clear and vivid. Memories swarmed into my being, remembrances that were fuller and more real than they would be from an armchair. While I could not always remember what I had for lunch, memories of orange blossoms in the spring were as real as they were in 1972.
Memories, I learned, are faithful about being good or bad when you confront them where they occurred. I could not sugar-coat anything. I beat myself up one side and down the other for failed relationships, job fiascos, poor decisions. I was in Dauphin Island at the worst of this time, a good place to find peace around the unhappy memories. I calmed myself through long walks on the beach and the neighboring bird sanctuary. I kayaked the narrow band of water along the north side of the Island. The salty sea breezes gently blew the weight of my failures from my soul. In New Mexico the swarm turned positive again as I started to relive my early years in the Arizona Desert, exciting, happy times.
To a Midwestern kid, the desert seem so magical, unique, inviting. I loved the University of Arizona. Tucson was much smaller in the 70s, easier to navigate and the air only slightly polluted by car exhaust. Hiking and camping in the desert! Mexican food! Trips across the border! Life was thrilling every minute, and I was an especially idealistic and optimistic young person ready to save the world. Life experiences and my own limitations, of course, made for a slightly more cloudy life.
As I wander anew in the desert, it is the good memories that swarm through my system. I am enthusiastic again, ready to be around people, which is a good thing since I landed in an RV park with a busy social calendar. It seems like, during this not-yet-complete journey, I have discovered the fountain of youth, but it is not the mythic fountain. This fountain neither makes me look young again, nor does it dissolve aches and pains. Rather, it leads to a place where we can reclaim what we liked most about ourselves. It helps me bind up the memories that weigh me down and allows the good to bubble up. Young-like in spirit but with the wisdom of age, able to celebrate my life rather than fret about the missteps.
