Well, it’s hard to believe, but here I am again, living in a
small one-bedroom apartment a nation away from my family. I have to believe
this will be the last time I put any of us through this.
My children are made
of sterner stuff than perhaps I give them credit for, as they gamely have
listened to the "adult reasoning" for this latest temporary separation. I can’t
logically expect them to care about the "bigger picture" when they are forced, once
again, to only be able to talk to their Dad on the phone or through Skype; yet they are
courageous enough to at least say that they understand.
I find it hard to
believe I will ever be more proud of them. And yet, I’m absolutely sure I will – they are, I am finding, already becoming the kind of people one always hopes adults will be.
The first time I went down this stupid road, back in 2010,
it was for a good reason – to save the family the angst of moving and being
alone in a strange place for a short time and then moving again. This time it’s
not quite so clear. Long term, it’s probably a good thing – no, I’m sure it’s a
good thing – but short term… this just sucks. Much worse than last time, for me
at least.
So I had to drive 2,500 miles to get here, largely through…nothing.
It seems that a whole lot of the middle of America is a whole lot of empty. You
can drive 100 miles at a time through a damn good portion of it without seeing
a man-made object that is not a car or in support of a car. It’s desolate,
monotonous and quite inexplicably…wonderful.
The Eastern U.S. is lovely, especially New England from
late April until mid-October. Trees, small villages, dirt roads and a
preponderance of charming. It’s small and compact and wild with pockets of
tranquility tucked into waves of green so deep you could run around toothless
and naked if you wanted and never fear for showing up on Google maps.
The middle and western U.S. offers no such hidey holes. Its
expansiveness leaves you exposed. If you’ve ever been lost, even for a little
bit, in the woods – really lost – so that your heart races and panic washes
across your thoughts … it’s nothing like that.
Being lost in the woods, always provides the hope that there is someone behind a tree, or that you’ll
find a path, or that maybe salvation lies over the hill or around the bend. In short, there is always something that provides a mental lifeline.
The
western plains, in contrast, bare your soul. If you feel lost, you can see immediately that you are, in fact, alone. If you find a path, there is no hope of
something around the bend or over the hill for there are neither bends, nor
hills.
And yet, it’s wonderful. The sky opens up in way that’s
impossible among the close hills of the East. Lying upon the ground, especially
at night, when the stars come out in their multitudes, you can look up and see
the curve of the heavens – like your sitting in a globe. It’s difficult to describe but you’ll know when you
see it. And you will feel insignificant. And you will feel omnipotent. And you
will feel the enormity that is the world and the sky no matter how much we say
it’s shrinking and you will know it is not. And you will … feel.
Of course, traveling across America isn’t all beautiful
views and the awe-inspiring grandeur that is nature. No, there are people and
the stuff people bring – in short there is an awful lot of lowest-common-denominator
in a 2,500 mile drive. But there’s plenty of time for that later. For now, it’s
time to look up at the sky and become the world’s most trivial god.
