Another Reason I Travel

When I go to a new place, there is always this little dream that I will be a new person. This place, and these people, have never met me. They know nothing of my history or my shadow side. In this new place, I've never screwed up, made anyone angry, let anyone down, failed at a project, said something awkward,  made a bad entrance or exit.

There's always the hope that I will leave behind my irritating habits, my little obsessions, and my prejudices. Maybe I will arrive in this foreign place minus my fears and painful memories. Maybe here I will exhibit more hope and act more graciously.

We received Nala's ashes yesterday--Nala is the dog we had to euthanize two weeks ago--and I had to pack last night so did not open the box. But I did this morning, and I wept many tears for my Baby Girl and placed her on the shelf next to Buddy's canister of ashes. I held Little Buddha the cat and could feel the sorrow welling up. I'm sort of crazy to leave my good home for 10 days to go get lost in a strange place by myself.

I have the habit of touching the center of Jim's chest and saying to him, "This is my home." Because I have such a home, I am free to go do crazy things. And I do try to arrive at my destination as if this is a fresh place, a clean slate. But of course I am still me, and I bring the whole person on this ride. And although there's a lot I'd like to shake off my shoes--the mistakes and bad habits, things I wish I'd never said--I know you can't shake free of the history you don't like without losing bits of what you love.

So I travel to get a fresh start, much as I get out of bed every morning and consider that today I might be more merciful and less fearful, more courageous and less judgmental. There's an Old Testament verse I love that proclaims: "God's mercies are new every morning." I trust that this is true in the place I have worn smooth with my presence, this home of many years. I suppose it will be true as well off in England, where I hope to be walking very soon.