A MILE IN MY OWN SHOES – The Ways of Wanderlust

It’s silly I know, but one of the ways my Latin American travel/adventure trips move from crazy notion to harebrained scheme to actual occurrence is that I envision one of my favorite pairs of shoes stepping down the streets or trails of that distant place. Oh…and I’m in the shoes.

For Puebla, Mexico, it was my then-brand-new Keen ultra-lite sandals. In Buenos Aires, it was the Merrell Encore clogs. Havana saw me mostly in my Ecco Yucatan sandals. And now, for my upcoming fall trip to Oaxaca, it will be my new, buttery-soft Birchbury leather sneakers.

Why does it take footwear to lead me to such places? I suppose it’s like any other serious intention in life; to make room for adventure in a future that may not be ready for it, or thinks it’s already scripted for something else, it helps to imagine oneself there. The rest of the plan then starts falling into place around that image.

The shoes get me to that place of my imagining in a way that simply Googling the place cannot. More than just reading someone’s description or looking at photos, they seem to put me there physically. I can actually feel it, my connection with the ground.

FEEL THE YEARN
I remember reading Thomas Mann’s novella, Tonio Kröger, when I was in high school. Mann used the distant sound of the Posthorn to represent the siren song of Tonio’s wanderlust.

There’s nothing as powerful as a dream. For some, like Tonio, it’s just a hazy, unsettling yearning; for others it’s more like a prayer. I see it as simply committing my wishes to the wise ways of the Universe. And, since my Higher Power wants me to be happy, it makes space in the future for the fulfillment of those wishes and then enlists my own intentions, planning and a bit of elbow grease to make them happen.

You see, I have this hunger to keep expanding the realm of my being. To learn new things, meet new people, behold ever-more-stirring expressions of Nature’s beauty, get out of my egocentric, way-too-busy self and closer to the ideal of oneness with everything.

Nothing better satisfies that yearning than travel. (And travel, specifically to Hispanophone places, also lets me pursue my late-in-life quest to get reasonably fluent in Spanish.)

            My wanderlust exerts the same pull
            that being a homebody does, but in
            a different direction.

DIFFERENT STROKES
I realize that, for many, life’s less about opening new realms than deepening the ones they already occupy. That’s fine. I actually envy you homebodies, for your ability to happily grow where you’re planted. And for the strength of your commitments to a beloved place and the people you make sure frequent it.

I suppose I could say my wanderlust exerts the same kind of pull that being a homebody does, but in a different direction. To be honest, though, I feel a bit guilty about how selfish it is. I try to salve the guilt by recalling how many other worthy endeavors demand a choice between familiarity and exploration.

Wanderluster. Full-nester. Aren’t they really like introvert and extrovert, where one is better than the other only for certain purposes. Shouldn’t it be possible to be some of both, to balance the two?

How does one do that? As my mother used to say, when you’re torn between two valid paths, sometimes you just have to follow your nose…

…and, I would add, your shoes.

"To my mind, the greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time, to be in a position in which almost nothing is so familiar it is taken for granted."
BILL BRYSON

DREAMS IN HINDSIGHT – The Magic of Imagining

This morning I was standing in our kitchen, pouring cereal into a bowl. Light streamed in through the generous windows at either end of our modest townhouse, highlighting our decor’s vibrant colors.

I picked up the remote and, from across the house, tuned the stereo to my favorite jazz station.

     There would be music, HD music, not just
     in one room, but filling the entire first level.

LINE OF SIGHT
As I’m wont to do occasionally, I stepped back mentally, lifting my attention from the fruit I was about to peel to a more universal perspective. And it suddenly became quite clear: in that moment I was living out a very specific dream I’d had some 13 years ago.
 
Back then, we lived a fine little two-bedroom home in a fine little St. Paul neighborhood. Of course, it had windows on every side, but, typically for the period, the layout was broken up into distinct rooms, limiting one’s sight lines and the flow of light through the interior.

In that house, at that time, someone working in the kitchen might have turned on a table radio, or maybe an iPod, but the stereo was like two rooms away. So, without decent, space-filling music, without a real color concept for the decorating, with all the surfaces kind of old and grimy, that kitchen seemed all but lifeless.

But I could dream…and I did. I remember standing in front of that old kitchen sink one day and imagining the home I’d someday find. I pictured a bright, open space with one living area flowing seamlessly into the next; walls painted the kinds of colors Mexicans use to such delicious effect; art enlivening every unhindered vista.

There would be music, of course, HD music, not just in one room, but filling the entire first level. I wouldn’t have to walk into a different room to turn it on; it would be right there at my fingertips.

Believe it or not, I could even smell the clean, herbal scent of the liquid hand soap I’d have in the kitchen in that ideal place.

        It’s easy to take for granted that whatever
        we want we won’t want for long.

GRATEFUL FOR GRATITUDE
Well, here I was, this erstwhile feast of imagination now spread out for real right in front of me. I love it! Not just that I’d had that moment of envisioning all those years ago, but that I remembered it now so clearly.

It’s too easy—especially for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced much need—to simply take for granted that whatever we want we won’t want for long. Somehow, it usually just shows up.

But we should acknowledge the power of a universal consciousness—we might call it God, Creator, Great Spirit, Jehovah, Allah, Brahama…whatever—to make that happen. Privileged or not, when we earnestly put our hopes, our intentions, out there and entrust them to the Universe—and are sufficiently open to actually noticing its response—they are indeed most often fulfilled.

ANIMAL MAGNETISM – A Dream to Remember

How often do you dream? If it’s frequently, you’re lucky. Me, I very seldom dream—or should I say, remember my dreams. So when I do remember one it’s likely to be a beaut…like the one I had last week:

I was taking a nap in the living room. As I awoke, I noticed Charlie, an old friend who’d been visiting me from Boston, standing next to me. He was about to leave and head back home. Without as much as sitting up, I gave him a sort of awkward handshake, and he walked toward the door with his small carry-on bag.

A few steps behind Charlie tottered a very young horse, a winsome, long-legged, still-slightly-gangly  chestnut foal. Charlie opened the door, turned and beckoned his young friend to leave with him. Instead the animal stopped beside my day bed, glanced down at me, and lay down…right on top of me.

Not the slightest bit alarmed, I put my arms around the beautiful animal, marveling at its smell. It wasn’t that I’d expected it to smell bad, but I thought it would at least smell like a horse. It didn’t; it smelled even better, a sweet, warm-nutty scent something like the way your skin smells after you lie in sun for while.

You’d think having a horse of any size lying on top of you would, if not crush
you, at least squeeze the wind out of you. But this foal was nearly weightless.
I felt nothing but its smooth, still-soft coat, its warmth, the slow ebb and flow
of its breath.

It nuzzled with me.

       The big cat licked my face and then 
       nestled its head in the crook of my neck.

WITHOUT A WORD
Charlie had left without a word, and I lay there overcome with wonder at this sweet animal’s affection for me; with what seemed like the opening of a clear channel of silent communication between us. It was as if our spirits flowed together into one. I closed my eyes and, basking in this magical moment, drifted off to sleep.

Later, when I opened my eyes, the foal had somehow morphed into a stunningly beautiful cat. Again, it was not the kind of cat you'd expect to be sleeping with—it was a cougar. It was looking right into my eyes, deeply, as if this was as extraordinary an experience for it as for me.
 

I studied every hair on the cougar’s face, the meld from fawn to white around its eyes and mouth, the little black spot at the root of each whisker. I could feel that
the animal shared my admiration and wonder.

The big cat licked my face and then nestled its head in the crook of my neck.
I did not lick it back.

When I awoke from my dream, I lay in bed for the longest time basking in the rapture of that transcendent experience. I felt a guest in a paradise of possibility, though, try as I might, I could not go back again and conjure up my enchanting new friends.

      Whatever life may throw at us, the only thing 
      we have to fear is failing to understand its
      place in that sacred reality.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?
I've shared my dream with my wife and several friends. Inevitably, we traded hypotheses about its meaning. I guessed it might have been inspired by my recent visit with my grandchildren, and our snuggling at bedtime.

My wife thinks that’s too literal, and that the animals and their calming, positive energy were more likely a manifestation of my father, come back to reassure me during a time of extraordinary stress and anxiety in my life.

One friend has an even more literal take on it than I do: that my close encounter with such improbable creatures was merely a playing out of the mystical connection I already feel with all living things. It arises from my deep conviction that every single organism, every rock, every cloud, every drop of water, even the vast emptiness of deep space, is part of a single, universal whole.

And that, when we come face to face with whatever life may throw at us, the only thing we have to fear is failing to understand its place in that sacred reality.