Captain Trips and I arrived home the other day from our 10-week summer RV book-and-movie tourapalooza. Not triumphantly, but in tears.
Gone are the mornings one of us looks at the other and says, “Do you know what day is it?” and neither one of us knows. Or, “What do you want to do today?” and both of us shrug. We knew we didn’t have to decide; the adventure would simply appear. Apart from showing up for book readings and movie screenings, we could go where we wanted, stop when we pleased, hang out at the town pool wherever we happened to land, listen to the rain at night on our little metal roof.
We had our moments, surely. I had altitude sickness in Yellowstone, packrats ate our air conditioning in Kansas, and the RV, big lug that it is, crashed into a few minor tree branches. We almost had a flat tire. Almost. For nearly 8000 miles of safe travel, we’re grateful.
We’ll spend the next few decades waxing nostalgic for our summer. Even the near-misses and mishaps of the past 10 weeks have taken on the rosy patina of comedy and time.
We’re selling the RV, so I guess we’ll stay planted. But Captain Trips and I intend to hang on to that feeling of freedom. To make time and space in our days for whatever adventure comes. To hang out and simply breathe in the pleasure of the world.
If you find yourself anywhere near our back yard, stop in for a tale of the road. And in the meantime, here’s to slow living wherever you are. And welcome home.