I Am Going on a Journey

On May 31, early Saturday evening, I will board a plane to fly the Atlantic, land in Dublin, board a smaller plane, and arrive in London on June 1. After a day and night there, I will ride a train out into the Cotswold countryside and embark upon a six-day walking trip from town to town and inn to inn. My one small suitcase will be transported for me to each lodging; I’ll walk with my daypack along roads and lanes, through fields and towns.

I’m going alone because my husband is not as crazy about walking as I am. And, frankly, we can’t afford for both of us to do this, and I’m the one who has had the longing for this adventure for quite some time.

I’m going alone because my life is full and my heart is weary, and I think it may be a healing act to walk at my own slow pace and drink in the scenes, tastes, sounds, smells, and textures of a lovely place. My introverted self can hardly wait for the solitude. My anxiety-prone self is giddy with fear at the loose-endedness of this endeavor. I was born without any sense of direction whatever, and the detailed directions I’ve been given read suspiciously like the directions one might receive from an old man sitting on his porch, back in the rural landscape of my hometown. You go through this gate, not that one; travel along the racetrack and then veer off on this other lane; follow a certain waymark; walk the path that will take you along a certain ridge . . . May angels walk alongside, before, and behind me, and simply shuffle me where I need to go and get me to the next town before nightfall.

There will be three or four more blogposts before the journey begins. When I am on the road, who knows? I am now equipped with a Kindle Fire that takes photos and should connect to whatever wifi is available in inns, pubs, or tea shops. If you check in and see a photo or two with a caption or two—that’s probably as much as you’ll get from me. This journey is for me, my present to myself in the middle of my fifties. I will journal, but for me, not for an audience. Sometimes I think that writing for an audience can siphon the best energy from the creative life.

However, you may find subsequent posts entertaining, as I delve into the Perils of Pre-travel Paranoia.