The Road Trip

I've been away. Physically for a month. Emotionally, maybe since I last posted.

Alan is gone. I knew it would happen, and I knew I wouldn't be officially informed. After a month with no email, I suspected, and after two months, I was certain. I didn't want to log in for a while. Do you send a message to someone who will never get it?

As for my most recent rants, I gave up. After telling Aiden so many times what I wanted and being verbally acknowledged and then functionally ignored, that little voice in the back of my head reminding me that "men never change" got louder and louder. I'll never tell Shelby she's right about any of her judgments, because then there will never be any hope. I feel like I've been the symbol of hope for a while, and I take that seriously. I know the power I've been given. I'm trying to be more responsible than I've been in the past.

Looking for answers, I went on a road trip. I rode across the country on my motorcycle, alone, alternately visiting friends and relatives and camping out. Separated from both of my jobs, my derby league, and all of my financial gaming hobbies, I had nothing to do but explore and think.

Before I left, I thought maybe I'd write a book. My daily mileage goals were low, and I pictured hours spent at picnic tables and in my tent, scribbling down every poignant moment of our weird relationship, sifting out the meaning and preparing to share it anonymously with the world.

Then I got out in the world. I slept from dusk to dawn, and spent the rest of my time riding, or cooking, or setting up or breaking down camp, or exploring and taking photos. I met people. I saw concerts. I toured sites. I had adventures. I laughed at myself for thinking I'd ever have time to write a book when I was so busy living.

On the third day, I called home crying, thinking the trip was a mistake. By the fourth morning, I had regained the solo equilibrium that I had when I was single and lived alone. I was productive, adventurous, unemotional. I keep good company with myself. I don't get upset about things. I just do what needs to be done, and sometimes it's less enjoyable than others, but I never get caught up in spirals that make me want to cry and yell and act in ugly ways. I'm very in balance on my own.

I realized that without the hours of soul-searching, I wasn't going to find the answers I was looking for, but I noticed smaller daily lessons, and I was content with those.

Somewhere along the Natchez Trace Parkway, which is more peaceful and contains fewer distractions than any other road I've ever seen, the issues I'd left at home bubbled up again. I imagined scenarios, turned things over in my mind, and found a point. Then I remembered another element I'd left out, decided it overshadowed the point, and came to a conclusion.

I felt better, like I'd found what I set out to find, and I considered riding straight home and ending the trip early. But I still had a few days, and it would've been silly to ignore all of the sites left to see between here and there.

And so I visited Nashville.

As soon as I rode in, I felt like I'd come home. By the next morning, all previous points were irrelevant. It was all I could do to pull myself away. Expectation drew me home, and passion drew the tears down my face as I rode north in the pouring rain.

I cried for hours. I saw only enough of my surroundings to ride the bike safely. I cried at stoplights, and at lunch. I texted a friend that I knew would understand, and he gave me exactly what I wanted, which was surprised support. Aiden and Shelby, Ninja, Eben, my mother, and my team will be told in person.

I come to life milestones late, but I arrive at them with a vengeance that tends to make up for my tardiness.