Where ever you go, there you are.
I find that statement dumb. I don’t know what about it makes me slightly crazy with “duh!” but it grates on me. Of course, it is true. But sometimes you are where you didn’t go, or didn’t mean to go, but there you are anyway. And sometimes you are there when you didn’t move at all because you were there before.
There was a point, I swear, I was working on one. But now I have no idea what it was. Like walking through a room to figure out what it was I forgot, let’s start with the title… C asked me a week ago why we were nervous about this trip (we both are) and what does it matter where we are on a given day. After all, we’ll have the internet, food, shelter, and showers. We could live nearly anywhere and be able to do what we do. And we have each other so we’ll be happy. Why does physical location matter?
I love California. I’ve lived here all my life so I suppose I don’t know if I’d love living somewhere else (other than Pittsburgh in the summer, which I did not love). The beauty of California is hard to top but is a familiar beauty. We sometimes go for a walk when the sunset looks nice over the hills or the moon rises over the far mountains. And the beach is a half hour away and we play hooky pretty often (it is supposed to be 85F on Friday, so expect some slacking soon). But, you know, if we don’t do it today (or Friday), it will be the same tomorrow, next week, next month. There is comfort in that sameness.
There is comfort in our life. We’ve worked hard to get the house the way we want it, the kitchen organized for us and pretty to look at, the garden full of bees and squirrels and flowers, the TV set up to do what we want, our jobs such that they amuse us, etc.
Here, the internet is fast. The food is exactly what we like. And when we go out, we know where we are going, what restaurant has great food, where is good to chat, what is minimum fuss, who has good takeout, where has nice outdoor seating for dawdling, what is new and should be tried when we feel adventurous.
We have choices but once we decide on, say, pizza then the next choice is delivery, pick up or sit. Once we decide that, we know where we are going. We know what to expect when we get there. And we enjoy the anticipation of knowing we’ll be getting something good and the ease of choice.
When we travel, we’ll lose all that context. We won’t know where the good pizza is, at least, not our definition of good. And we won’t know which hotel to stay in. We’ll be faced with a barrage of choices at every stage.
These choices have consequences: this gas station or maybe drive a block to save $5? will this grocery store have our preferred yogurts? if we eat at this dicey taco stand, will we regret it for thirty minutes or three days? if I go for a walk in this neighborhood, is there a chance of getting hassled (or worse)?
Some of those can be determined by asking for help from the natives but we aren’t good at that. Sure, Google is our friend (does this hotel have wifi? internet? free? secure?) but we aren’t that good at asking for help. We are accustomed to figuring it out ourselves or knowing the answers from long association. Talking to people is hard.
We will experience lots of new things. I feel a little sorry for future-us, it will be a firehose of newness and uncertainty. As someone who sometimes gets catatonic faced with the array of shampoo choices in the grocery, this overload of options is going to be hard.
So why do it? Well, let’s stop dwelling on the causes of the fears and start thinking about the investment we are making.
First, it doesn’t matter which shampoo I choose. It doesn’t matter which hotel, gas station, or lunch. Sure, there are consequences but the consequences are minor, remember that. The best options and the worst options will average out over time. And if they don’t, that is ok (remember that too). No one dies.
Second, that phrase, no one dies, is an important one. Our last road trip was due to my mother’s failing health. It was horrible. Terrible. Awful. All that and so much worse. Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it but as aversion therapy, it was excellent. Neither one of us wanted to leave the house for months.
We need to get over it. A weekend in Half Moon Bay or Paso Robles is enough to prove we can. But those aren’t real road trips and we want to be ok with this, to prove to ourselves that we can do it, to show that when something looks difficult, well, at least it won’t be as tedious as driving through Nevada on the last leg of a 6,891 mile journey.
The third investment requires some creeping up on so let me take this from a different angle.
When you are sick (or injured) for a long time, you get used to the limitations. You get used to pain and not going out because it hurts. You get used to avoiding commitments because you can’t be sure if next Saturday will be a good day or a bad day. Even though it is disappointing, annoying, exhausting and frustrating, you get used to it. It makes the world small. We went through this with my health a few years ago (all better now, thanks).
That smallness of the world? I don’t feel the walls close in now because my cage is of my own making and so very luxurious. But I don’t delude myself, my world is fairly small. That is ok with me, I don’t know if I would try to stretch it out unless pushed. (But we were pushed, a little.)
What if there is more? What if one of the consequences for all those choices is something better? It is like finding out that the disgusting slimy Brussel sprout of my childhood is a nutty delicious thing. I could be wrong about my certainties of what is best. Things we know to be true will turn out to be (at best) partial answers. The beauty of California is a given. I know New Mexico is amazing too, in a totally different way. What else is there? That is the big question: what else is there?
We’ll see huge extremes, things we’ve never seen. And we’ll see little ways of doing things differently. We’ll come home with stories and ideas.
Change is scary. But if we pack snacks and hold hands, it’ll be all right. Our world will be bigger when we come back.
