Nov. 5 7:00 am and 4:00 pm… – Joshua Tree
Tomorrow I leave the desert and head to San Diego. The last time I was there, I met my girlfriend’s family and friends, and at the top of Double Peak Mountain near San Marcos, I asked her to marry me. Four months later she left.
For a lot of different reasons, that series of events, the friendship, the love, the connection, the engagement, the ending… changed my life more than anything else has in recent memory. At times, I felt like I was flailing about in its wake (because I was). I moved to Memphis, I grew more interested in spirituality and Buddhism, I became mildly obsessed with trying to cultivate in me the many things I admired about her. I turned inward in ways I had never done before. I spent a lot of time (years) trying to be alone, trying to understand what happened, and ultimately getting to a place where what happened (what went wrong or didn’t and whose version of the story was the “truth”) didn’t really matter.
Spending time in the desert has unearthed some of that – mostly because it feels like a spiritual place, a place of deep contemplation. Also because the amount of time I’ve spent traveling around the country and the amount of time I’ve spent outside of my comfort zone has been a way of answering what felt like an unfair charge in that relationship: that I was needy. In some respects, this trip may have been a way of proving to myself that while my preference is to do these things with a partner – I’m more than capable of going it alone.
That said, I’ve had moments when I’ve found myself questioning who or what am I doing all of this for… I’ve found myself trying to contextualize experiences and framing them in ways that almost necessitates sharing. I’ve found myself mentally creating the sound bite post for social media. I’ve wondered if I’m doing this to impress other people, and who: friends, family, exes? I’ve shared some things on Facebook. I’ve written here on this blog. I’ve had so many positive responses to my travels and yet, I’m still asking myself, to what end? What’s my take away? Have I learned to be more in the moment… have I gotten better at not sacrificing the present moment for some undetermined future?
In going back to San Diego, I’m tempted to climb Double Peak again. I’m tempted to take a different picture at the top – as though I might be able to reclaim something – though what that would be, I’m not sure. It wasn’t my place to begin with. I don’t know if revisiting would be empowering or if it’s just some manifestation of gluttony for punishment or a performative pushing on a sore tooth.
I imagine the ex has been back to San Diego since our trip. Because she lived there, I can see how that moment on the mountain and that trip might not stand out for her. She has countless memories, good and bad, associated with San Diego. While I had been there before, our trip defined the place for me. And that’s the ghost I’m about to face (maybe). I suppose were she to visit Philly or Yardley, she might feel the same way. I’m guessing she’s happy to have left Philly in the rear-view mirror.
My ego wants me and our time to stand out (at least a little). My ego wants us to have mattered. As such, I wonder how she feels when (if) those memories pop up. Is there a sense of humorous and scoffing regret – “wow, that was a stupid time in my life.” Is her answer to the dating prompt: “One thing I’ll never do again…” get engaged to that guy… While these questions/thoughts don’t come up nearly as often as they used to, they surface from time to time. Such is the nature of not getting closure. Such is the nature of always looking for “lessons” or “meaning.”
I’m not one to buy in to the blind faith of “what’s meant to be will be,” or that “people come and go from our lives for a reason” – yet, on more than one occasion on this cross-country road trip, I’ve had encounters that were random, wonderful, beautiful, and almost “fate” like. Because of those encounters, I’ve been better able to view that time in my life as a time in my life: momentary, life-affirming, perhaps cut short, but transformative. On a serious climb with a guy named, Henry, we talked about a lot of different things, including “progress” and “time” and I reiterated that I’m not sure if I believe in forwards or backwards – there is and then there is some more.
As a result of this trip, I’ve become even more open to the idea that if one places oneself near where “joy has been rumored to appear” sometimes it appears. Henry told me about a bar I should check out. At the bar two guys offered me a free ticket to see the band, Drive-by Truckers, a National act playing to a crowd of about 1,000. And maybe that’s part of the lesson (not that there has to be a lesson) – focus on the joy in the now, appreciate what has been, and be open to what might come next.
There’s been a strange undercurrent of pride that I’ve felt on this trip. I’ve pushed myself in new ways and found new depths within. I had never camped before, and now I’ve done it several times. I had never driven this far or this long. I had never been without a home for this long. I had never navigated some of these cities, roads, deserts, or woods. I had never faced this much uncertainty – both long term and day to day. And the thing about both pride and growth is that in some ways, it seeks affirmation – or at least recognition. This has been fun, and hard – and at times I want credit for that (because I have yet to get comfortable with giving myself credit). I feel like I’ve come a long way… and sometimes, I find myself looking back on that time in my life to see just how far I’ve come.
As I write, my campfire is dying, and I’m searching for ways to sum all of this up – the trip, the spiritual journey, everything. I’ve seen more stars than I’ve ever seen before (figurative and literal). Which, like our strongest connections and our most pure senses of astonishment, defy contextualization and can only be described as wow – which, if we’re lucky we get to warm ourselves by it’s glow a little longer than we expected.