Twenty days. This coming Tuesday I will have been on this journey 20 days. I can tell you that traveling completely around the globe in 108 days was less tiring.
I have stayed in one house, one apartment and two hostels. By the time I lay my head down Tuesday night I will make that my third hostel. Second state, with an international border crossing thrown haphazardly in the middle.
I have waited and listened. I have written and written. Written alone. Written in a small room full of women also writing. Written in a large room with a new group of women who also sat writing.
Not once in all of that writing did I write the answer, an answer.
But once, in a moment of not listening and not writing, when the clouds were literally parting, I knew an answer. Somewhere in the Skagit Valley, or perhaps just beyond in the stretch of wherever it is in these northern bits, I had my very quiet, non-neon, moment of clarity.
That moment was Friday. Which was followed by the loveliness of the sea in a new city. The wonder of traveling alone and getting to choose it all. How slow to walk and which trinket shop to step into next. I ended the day pushing my boundaries and choosing new people and loud music and the rush of energy to propel me through the mundane task of editing. It is helpful to drown out the nasty critic with the thrum of life around you. Turns out you can just respond to what is there.
All of this is good. Hard and wonderful. Gut wrenching. Invigorating and doubt inducing. And that is where I landed today. The rain swept in and has not stopped. So my mind is making up for all of the sites I won’t see today.
My mind is choosing to paint the sun streaked sky of my Friday bus ride into a lonely delusion.
Miles and miles and days of trust. Open hands filled time and again. And I choose in this cold long day to question clouds parting just for me.
I feel another lap around this mountain coming.