Moving

I’ve been on this travel binge. 

Pack the bags, pack the car, fill the tank and go.  In October I drove 3,400 miles in 18 days.  Solo.  I’ve been in more gas stations, hotels, rest stops, guest rooms and crash pads than I can even count. I slept in my car.  If I know you very well at all I probably slept on your floor.  I did 110 mph in the middle of nowhere in Iowa.  I got stuck in traffic.  And traffic.  And traffic.

I can’t find what I’m looking for and, really, I’m not sure I even know what that is.  I’ve seen the most beautiful places.  I’ve cried in a lot of them.  Cried in some pretty ugly ones too.  At some point, I just ran out of tears.  Everything in me went still.  I kept running.  And running. And running. 

Writing this isn’t about what broke.  That’s over.  It happened and it’s done.  This writing is about the after.  This writing is about healing.  I’m relearning how to feel.  I’m learning more about who I am and who I can be.  It hurts sometimes. Sometimes, tho, it’s wonderful.  I’m finally opening up.  I think it’s time to stop running.