Wandering, Settling, & Moon Bathing.

16 Sep

“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.” Jack Kerouac

This Kerouac quote has been my mantra since I first lived on a bus 5 years ago. I have an increasingly unquenchable wanderlust.  Part of it is my love for adventure, my willingness to start something new. Part of it is just me being antsy, not wanting to face what rises to the surface when I actually sit still. I realize,  I used to find some kind of identity out of all the places I’ve been, decorating my soul like bumper stickers boasting of places visited, covering an old suitcase.
Now, that I am reaching my mid-twenties, I am starting to have a new appreciation of the concept of “home.” I understand that sometimes the wanderlust means I am running, and that it doesn’t matter where you are, you can never run away from yourself. Now, I know that sometimes staying put is as necessary as going, that there is a wisdom and peace you will never find till you put down roots, commit. I am starting to value building a life in one place. I am even embracing the redefined idea of the one loathed word, “settling.”

This past trip,  a tour/road trip with Jean-Thomas, was 6,504.4 miles, 30 days, 26 states, and 2 countries. We had lots of adventure. We got kicked out of a tea house by a psycho manager in Orlando. Met “Bubba” in a condemned gas station the backwoods of North Carolina. Stood under the Statue of Liberty in the rain. Poised in a field of sunflowers in Ohio. Danced at a wedding in Canada. Saw lots of amazing people it was great to catch up with. Visited Sun Records in Memphis. Ate amazing Sushi, and nasty fast food. Had wonderful and hard conversations. Doubted and wondered and dreamed and planned.

I guess it’s not so much about the places, but the moments with people you love attached to them. Then these moments are attached to feelings, feelings of things I live for, like:

Redemption. Grace. Rapture. Love. Wonder.

Jean-Thomas and I escaped my parents camp ground in Maine as the darkness settled over the coast. We walked down to the beach, covered in rocks of all sorts of different colors and shapes. We followed the path up a steep ledge that led to a dock, which suspended over the water, connecting this stair bridge, swinging like in some adventure movie, to a small dock floating on the waves below. We sat out there, watching the clouds moves through the stars, as the Atlantic rocked us like babies in a cradle.

The moon was full, but it hid behind the slightly ominous clouds, shyly showing bits of it’s light as the sky turned.

I longed to see the entire thing. I wanted to soak under it’s beauty, to moon bathe, to see its silvery beams illuminate the dock we floated on, a spotlight on a dark stage.

The amount of clouds made this seems impossible, a hopeless dream, a fantasy.

“I WILL see the whole moon. Because God loves me.” I said, in a moment of child-likeness, to Jean-Thomas, to the night air, to the great black ocean.

I waited. Breathless. Silent. Almost asleep.
I could feel a brightness on my face before I even opened my eyes.

I don’t want to forget for one moment, why I am alive.

“But I came that you may have LIFE, and life to the FULLEST.” -Jesus

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