On the Road Again

This has been a month of renovations. Of building and tearing down and room ad-ons and new beginnings and of course, conclusions. Of asking myself over and over what I want. Out of life and work and people. Out of friends and strangers. Out of marriage and motherhood and myself.


There is no way to know for sure where the dirt road ends. The bumpier the road, the greater the risk, but also, the greater the view. Then again, there are plenty of trails that lead nowhere. Plenty of times one reaches her destination-- only to find it is exactly the place from whence she started.

Catherine recently wrote of having so much to say but being unable to say it-- at least to the world. This is how the last six-weeks have been. I am filled to the brim with secrets, flailing to stay afloat, regaining my self-control and stumbling wide-eyed down sewer pipes in my own underground. Feeling far more like a child than a woman and yet, at the same time, all grown-up: skipping down the street in pig-tails with a briefcase, and a boy on my shoulders. A boy who new to the world of English language, calls me by my first name.

I am finally back to work on what I love: fiction. Retiring from other projects and moving forward on my own. And even though it is wonderful traveling with others, the most learned journey is the one traveled by herself. Even though no one is ever really alone when they have family, and friends like safety nets under the trapeze.

What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.

-Jack Kerouac

I don't know where the hell I'm going. But I do know what I want to bring on my journey and more importantly, what I need to leave behind. And that, I am sure, is all I need to know for now.

GGC

*photography by Wynn Bullock