About a year ago, I got to meet the person I feel the closest to (besides obviously J and The Boy) in person for the first time. We have a lot in common. I felt instantly close to her, which is miraculously rare for me. I got to spend maybe 90 minutes in her presence, and the rest of our relationship has been through reading what each other has written. (And watching the same mass media…which we wrote about to each other…and sending each other gifts in the mail…with letters we wrote to each other…you get it.)
The farther we drove from the place I met her, the closer we got to ‘home’ on our big trip, but I got sad. I have literally NEVER been sad to go home from a trip before last year’s RV adventure. And yes…the entire trip was amazing. Yes, it was also the longest time J and I ever got to spend together without one or both of us having to return to work. We took our dog. We saw and did a lot of really cool shit. The Boy was super happy the entire time and we were almost totally unplugged from technology behind watching nostalgic family movies from the 1980s and cartoons together on DVDs in the RV. But I CRIED the closer we got to home. And it was largely because I missed A. Last year, I wrote her this…
Where You Are
I’m awake. When I woke up, I was with all of the people I cherish the most in my life except you. I thought about you, wishing you were here too, and I thought of maybe telling you so, but it’s way too early where you are to politely send a text.
We’re on the road now, all my favorite people except you, and me. J is driving, and the boy is happily entertained, and the doggo is asleep, and it’s raining. We’re headed toward ‘home’ where it actually rains fairly often in every season. But it very rarely rains where you are. So is it weird that I think about you when it rains? I do though.
Raindrops hitting the windshield in front of me and the view of the straight road ahead, leading to my home make me quiet (even more quiet than usual) and reflective. We just went through Normal, Illinois. And I thought about how this wasn’t a normal trip.
I never felt homesick. It felt the whole time like I was completely at home, which has never happened before. There are many reasons I can theorize for that…rolling house, not hotel rooms. J was driving, not some airline pilot I don’t know. Got to bring our dog along. I got to do some of the routine things on the road I do at home…like cook and clean laundry and make J’s coffee every day.
But sharing this trip with you…not just the small window of time allowed to hear your voice and get a hug or two, but the whole way…I’m pretty sure that was a big part of things being so comfortable and amazing for me.
I’m so happy and grateful for this trip. Everything about it. That all of it happened. I told J one reason I loved this motorhome was because it’s virtually impossible to leave something behind. Both of us have misplaced sunglasses and charger cords and articles of clothing and even our wedding bands, but they always turned up, because, ‘Well, we know it has to be in here somewhere…we aren’t driving away without something.’
But I did leave something behind. There’s a little piece of me where you are. It’s ok though. It kinda hurts, but I totally meant to leave it there. ❤
And now, we’re on the road again, moving farther away from where she is again. She has social anxiety, just like me, so I know how much effort she made last year and now to meet up with me ‘out’ somewhere. That’s not a small, inconsequential thing. I’m so grateful for her. That she has this magical ability for me to make ‘really far away’ feel a lot like ‘home.’ I really am jealous of people who get to see her every day.