The Journey Chapter 69: Lounging with Apprehension in a Womb

ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF ALLOWING LIFE TO FLOW TO ME

And, just like that, I have a new living arrangement in Olympia once I return from Eastern Washington. I don’t want to get into specifics because I have not asked permission to give them, but suffice it to say it will be a nice barter arrangement, me feeding animals on weekends and doing the odds and ends chores that pop up, in exchange for a parking spot with electricity, water, sewer, and a fenced play area for Maggie.

I cannot overemphasize how incredible this new approach to life is.  I don’t try to force anything. I have known, for several weeks, that I would be needing a new parking spot to call “home” in Olympia, but I did very little about it other than announce it on Facebook.  And lo and behold, the perfect arrangement appears, and I couldn’t be happier. I will still be able to take jaunts during the weekdays, weather permitting, and will be able to save money during the winter months.

Will I be going south for the winter? I doubt it. I’m gauging my decisions on how I feel about the options, and in this particular case, I feel sticking closer to Olympia this winter is wiser than venturing down to Arizona or the So. Cal desert.  If the rain becomes too much to handle, I can always make a quick three hour drive to eastern Washington, or pop up north to the Sequim area, both of which offer much less rain.

Will all of this change? I never say never. Right now, this is what I plan on doing. Will it change due to circumstances I can’t see right now? It’s always a possibility.  I’m just going with the flow and seeing where life takes me.

This approach to life would have driven my parents crazy.  In fact, it would drive 95% of the people I know crazy.  And I understand that. I’m perfectly fine with being the hunk of chocolate in a box full of vanilla candies.

Next installment will be from the road east.

THE INEVITABLE APPREHENSION

An interesting phenomenon happens every time I hit the road for a new journey. I find myself apprehensive and tense for the first hour or so, and with it happening once again, today, I spent my time, while driving, pondering the reason for that apprehension.

First, without a doubt, I feel it because I never totally trust that Puddle Walker will answer the call and perform flawlessly.  Mind you, she has given me no reason not to trust her, but the fact is she is an old girl, and eventually old things wear down and eventually collapse.

I sensed it immediately this morning as I hit the freeway; I knew I was tense, I was able to sleuth the reason from my subconscious, and I relaxed about an hour into the drive once it became obvious that my old steed was once again performing admirably.

Secondly, and I believe I’ve mentioned this before, I would prefer to drive with a companion. In the event that something were to go wrong, it is always easier to face problems when you have someone to commiserate with.

I also think, and this may account for a greater percentage of the apprehension than I like to admit, we need to consider my general dis-ease, my personal default setting within my psyche. I am at my best when surrounded by familiarity and routine. Taking off, alone, into the Great Unknown goes against most of the factors which keep me relaxed and mellow.

So, you might ask, why do it?  Because I believe growth is important, and I want to spend my remaining years growing as a human.  It’s as simple as that. I refuse to cower in a comfortable room, surrounded by comfortable things, and not experience life outside of four walls.

And the reality of it all is that after the first day, and I get into a traveling routine, I’m fine.

And that first day is coming to a close along the rainy banks of the Columbia River.  Tomorrow, Maggie and I will cover two-hundred miles to Walla Walla, where sunshine and cooler temperatures are promised.

From Cascade Locks, Oregon, Maggie and I bid you a goodnight.

LOUNGING IN A WOMB

There is something oddly comforting about sitting in a fiberglass RV/Bus/Trailer when it is raining.  Soothing beyond words, soothing as in a womb, a Tuesday night combo special of comfort and security and tranquility, again reminding me (probably not the right word) of the nine months inside a mother’s moist, warm, loving sanctuary.

Do we really remember those nine months before we made our grand entrance into this world? There are psychologists who believe we do, memories buried, almost always, deep within our craniums, never to be seen, never to be smelled, never to be heard, and yet as real as the IRS and botox.

What do you think? My opinion, which combined with a buck-fifty can get you a black coffee, is that we do not consciously remember any of it, but it is branded upon our psyches as surely as a heart pierced by an arrow, tattooed upon the arm, or bicep, of a manly man or girly girl.

Why do I think that?  Four words for an answer . . . Failure to Thrive Syndrome, the doctor’s answer to why I was still blind at nine months after nine short visits in nine different foster homes. I had not been nurtured for nine months, had not been held, had not experienced any outward signs of love, compassion, or empathy during nine months when there was nothing but feeding.

Read up on it sometime . . . Failure to Thrive Syndrome . . . manifested by slow to develop physical skills, social skills, mental skills, and delayed adolescence.

Am I certain that is what happened? All I know, for a fact, is one week after I was adopted by two loving people, and treated with signs of love, I gained my sight.

Do I believe the time in the womb is imprinted on our brains? Yes, I do.

So I guess that’s why, or at least partially why, I am loving the inside of Puddle Walker on this rainy night in late October.