I can't see beyond the bend

It looks like the road ends just ahead, yet I know from experience that it does not. It may turn, or divide, or diminish into a narrow lane. It's part exhilaration and part terror that I don't know, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

I've adopted a habit of talking to myself on this trip, and occasionally I've turned and realized that there was someone there - caught at it by strangers on the street. I will have to break the habit as I re-enter daily life or you will all think I'm loony. I'll have to get used to not washing my clothes in the bathroom sink, not wearing the same three sets of clothes, driving a car, cooking food instead of having it prepared for me, telling time by a 12 hour clock and the temperature by Fahrenheit, having a phone again. I hope I don't get used to a few things though, at least not right away.

I have been incredibly fortunate to be able to make this journey. I rarely told anyone I met on the road the full extent of my travels. Most often the person I was talking to hadn't the means, or sometimes was not permitted, to leave their own country, and to tell them what I was doing felt like showing off. My good fortune is largely an accident of birth, and I am so very grateful for the hand I was dealt. I'd like to remember that.

As I dealt with the inevitable difficulties of the road alone, I had to face myself in ways I can avoid at home. There was less distraction, less noise to hide behind. This was humbling, to be sure. But it also gave me a chance to accept myself as I found me.

I learned to quiet myself, to sort of mentally hunker down, and think through the dilemma confronting me. I was too far from anything or anyone who could help with most things, and losing it was just not useful. There were a few ugly moments, but since you weren't there to see them, I think we'll leave those alone. Too much disclosure isn't healthy, I say.

I'm sad to come to the end, it's been quite an experience. My response to this ending is also overlaid with the other recent events of my life: finishing law school, the anxiety over the bar results, and the end of a job that has helped to define me for 15 years. I don't typically do things any other way than headfirst and wholeheartedly, and so endings, even of my choosing, are bittersweet. I am happy to come home, to see people I love and appreciate, to have coffee at Peet's, to have conversations that go beyond numbers and greetings. At the same time, I am still enamored with the road before me.

I really appreciate you taking this journey with me. By telling you about what I saw and experienced, I was able to frame it for myself, often finding clarity as I wrote. And it has created for me a permanent record, so that when I forget how I felt on the train from Moscow, in Hotan conversing with the young woman on the scooter, or seeing Tyler and Lilly's life in Maputo, I can go back to this record. Your comments kept occasional bouts of loneliness in check and often made me smile.

It turns out that one can't just stop everyday life and go off on an extended adventure without some support from someone at home.

The mail had to be dealt with, the post office will only hold mail for 30 days. Cuba lives with me for the year, and being responsible for a dog is no small thing. The house needs things done, the chickens fed, plants watered, and it turns out the mouse carcasses need to be removed. I owe a great deal to Clay, Paula and Charles.  Thanks to Clay and Charles, my car still starts. Abigail and Teri both helped with care of Cuba, and I'm told that Abigail cleaned up my garden too. If I'm omitting something or someone, I apologize. Thank you all very much for taking time and care of things so I could go and do this thing.

I have laughed so many times at the typos in my posts. My only excuse is that I'm typing this all with one finger, and I often miss the autocorrections my tablet makes as I type.  Everyone has been very kind in not pointing them out.  If you haven't looked and are interested, there are a multitude of photos on Picasa.

See you soon, either in Santa Rosa or on Facebook.