It's the home stretch of a few thousand mile drive back from Chicago. Forty-three was a number worthy of a little excitement, for I was almost home. Home to see my family and friends and a place I had known for 29 years, but hadn't seen in 7 months. "Home stretch," I wonder to myself. "Can it be a home stretch if your destination isn't home?" Seems like it, as the phrase seems to be used for the last bit of travel before any target. But what makes a home, per se?
'San Jose 26'
I'm closer now, but not more excited. While I was on the road, people would ask where my home was. I didn't have a good answer. I'd reply, "It's complicated." If pushed for more specifics, I'd tell them there's a place my parents live (California), but that I no longer really had a home. Honestly, I don't have friends any longer in San Jose. No one from high school, no one from college. Four people I talk to in San Jose and they're all family. The friends I left in this part of the country are mostly in Monterey. "I'm not almost home," I think. "I'm almost to my next stop."
Don't get me wrong, it's good to be back with family, sharing meals and stories, birthday celebrations and shopping trips. But I couldn't stay here, even if it were an option. Though it's tempting to try to return my last job here, stable and very comfortable, I know that I can't stop now. I have to keep moving. Thanks to the wonder of a social networking website (which is a perfect tool for nomads such as myself), I know that I'm not the only one feeling this. My road family is out there, spread out amongst the states: some still working in Calgary, others terribly bored with being "home" collecting temp job money until they can escape back out onto the highway. It doesn't matter what state the others are in -- Minnesota, Texas, Ohio, New York, Colorado, California (forgive me if I've excluded your state, but know that you're included in these thoughts) -- if you're home, I'm missing you and the majority of your statuses echo these sentiments.
It's no wonder we're all so attached. Less than a couple months into the tour, I felt a huge family-like bond with my coworkers. Of those I'm thinking of on vacation/furlough/unemployment/whatever, I've spent nearly every day of my life working with, living with, and celebrating with you since you (or I) joined the tour. For some, that may have been only a couple months, but others were over a year. Readers not on the tour: If you've ever spent that much time with someone you enjoy, think about how you feel about that person. It's not all perfect, but this is life. Just as we celebrate, we mourn. I can think of times where I've held some of you in long hugs for comfort to pass your tears, some of which I caused. Again, though, this is life...but we carry our microcosm on the road: our world in a snail shell.
I'll call it Cirque du Snail (yes, I realize it should be escargot, but hush out there).
Tomorrow I fall primarily off the grid for a few months. I know/plan that upon my return I'll get to rejoin my family. This is a time many of us are looking forward to. There will be some new friends (hopefully) and many grand experiences to be had on my trip. In ways, I wish I could share it with some of you. I know you're looking for photos and facebook updates, but there won't be much if any of that. My phone will be shut off in the morning, so please don't try to call me. Facebook/email is the best way to leave a message and I'll get back to you when I can. I've had people tell me how brave (and crazy!) I am to make this journey, but really, it's easy. Buy a plane ticket and go. Sure, I have some fears about all this. Really though, what's the worst thing that could happen to me? Hold that idea in your head. Now ask yourself if it could happen to me in San Jose...or Monterey...or Oregon, Texas, Minnesota, Ohio, etc. There's really not that much different risk-wise in being on the road, so why be afraid to travel? I leave you with that thought. And a lyric that applies to me and at least a dozen people I'm thinking of out there:
"And I've driven across deserts driven by the irony that only being shackled to the road could ever I be free."
Photo of some of the misfit crew. Credit goes to Benjamin Lewis a.k.a. Pappa Large
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