i think i’m in new jersey. (wait for a car to pass, squint at its license plate) yup. new jersey.
i’m rolling down the east coast in a bus that departed from new york’s chinatown about 2 hours ago. we’re headed for virginia, the first stop of this around-the-world journey and, appropriately enough, the last.
so i guess this means this is the last official ride from here to there.
it took 10 countries, 25 flights, 4 hemisphere border crossings and every timezone for it to end in a cramped bus going to virginia.
this feels weird.
how has the time for reminiscing already begun? how did this whole wondrous trip suddenly vacate the room? i was just in it, and now…it’s logged into the history books. when i get off the bus in richmond, i wonder if i’ll hear a loud thump. the proverbial book being closed with regrettable finality.
i was telling a friend the other day that life often reminds me of when i was a kid on the ski hill in my winter snowsuit getup and rented skis trying to nab the elusive grip of the tow rope. i’d be in perfect position, skies completely parallel, body angled, hands clasped. but because my mitts sucked or the grip had been worn off or maybe because they were wet from saturated snow i couldn’t catch the drag of the rope. i just sat idle and wished my sore, little grip was strong enough to feel the yank forward instead of the constant whir of the braided rope through my hands.
you go through things and they go so fast. it’s too quick. you wonder where it went, why it was in such a rush to be gone.
and i think it’ll always be like that. things will always be flying by. it’s how it’s always been, after all.
i could’ve kept going. having my clothes stuffed in a giant ziploc bag suits me fine and i never tire of those immigration cards, “well that’s my parents address, so sure…um, well i don’t have a phone, so no number….occupation? don’t have one of those either…”
but all good things end and life has to change. change costumes, change form, change direction, change speed. and when your wallet is empty, you’re forced into these changes.
and when you are, when it has to change, it’s probably best to keep going with it. you have to move with it, you have to grab on.
because the past and the future, it always seems to hover over the same idea: the continual fight to put some thing, some place, some one to rest while walking toward something new.
i don’t know how to take you in to what that inner conversation feels like from where i’m sitting, on a wobbly bus somewhere, now, in delaware. maybe the bunny hill metaphor works because that’s how i’ve felt the past couple days as this trip ends.
like i’ve been holding tight to this line for six solid months and i just witnessed the last bit of it whip too suddenly through my palms.