Me and Travel
We are going to California this week. The reason- a wedding- is a happy one, though me being me, I’m ambivalent. Traveling requires a certain willingness to court disaster. Most of the time, it’s worth it. I’m 75% psyched to go and 25% a ball of anxiety, which I consider a fine ratio.
The biggest thing in my ball of anxiety column, eclipsing extreme turbulence and losing my driver’s license, is not being able to write.
Things happen to me when I’m out of my rut, things that thrill or annoy or enrage or delight me, things that require sorting and reflection and ultimately, ordered words for me to understand them. I am not very flexible. My coffeemaker and my tush parked in front of this here grandma PC monitor are all but required to keep the whole existential falling-into-place show running. When travel pulls me from my milieu, I manage, but nothing ever quite makes sense.
Out in the world, I wander undefined. Here’s an analogy: I am hot liquid Jello, and writing is what I pour myself into.
Anyway, I love the happy couple, I love weddings, I love California. 75% of me is up for this. But in the meantime, 100% of me can’t wait to get back home so I can tell you, and myself, all about it.