Okay, he’s not my favorite recording artist, but my gypsy heart loves embarking on a trip, so I warble the lyrics anyway. I love every part of a trip. Packing feels like Christmas. Pulling out of the drive feels like opening a fresh new jar of apple butter. The scenery, like a thousand snapping synapses, invigorates my mind. Coming home to my own bed feels like heaven.
The trick lies in living each day as the ultimate journey, savoring each new experience in the scenery of my life. Assign new meanings to everyday chores. Derive excitement from the mundane. Life lived to the max, pedal to the medal and interspersed with rest areas, creates a well-lived epitaph. Wring joy from weeding. Distill pleasure from folding laundry. Let cooking fuel the imagination, not just the belly. Mine the gold from the hearts lounging on the couch. Let the Word serve as the most definitive map of life, and consult it often to stay on course.
We’re traveling this time to visit dear friends. Desperately in need of talk therapy, this trip serves as a poignant divide between the landscape of grief and the fertile, lush foliage I’ll find at the hearth of a sister of the heart. My goal transcends safe arrival. I’m in search of a refreshed outlook, a calm spirit and a comforted heart. I want to return refueled and road-ready for my crazy life. Four camps, family dinners, a business where I try to bless others, grands camping out in our living room, little league, and a host of calendar engagements through a full summer require this tune up. Above all, some very precious people need me at top-notch performance.
So I’m changing the tires on the vehicle my mind drives, realigning my chassis, recharging my batteries, and repacking my treasured memories to fit the current route I travel. Every day I am on the road of life again. Every. Single. Day.