Barefoot

It’s been twenty-some hours since “take off”. Twenty some hours since the end of my latest winter adventure.

What an adventure.

A six month adventure.

A busy, hard-working adventure.

A turbulent, dizzying, adventure.

An adventure and then some.

A quagmire of mixed emotions are poking at me; an irritating reminder of what I’ve just left behind. An ominous realization of what I’m heading back to.  Trying to balance between the two and find peace seems impossible.

Just keep driving.

I try to think about past years adventures, and how excited I was to share my experiences. Those memories keep me alert for a few miles, but I still feel unsettled.  The long journey home is flying by compared to past years.  I’ve no idea why my mind keeps clouding up with a strange emotional angst.  I know I need to take a break.

After a five hour rest I’m refreshed, and on the last leg; I’ve just passed exits for Madison Wisconsin. There’s an absence of city life as far as the eye can see.  Rolling green hills, farms and open country.  I missed spring.  As my wheels hum along the dark highway, thoughts drift back to the past six months.  Sure, there was good.  And there was bad.  Then, there was the really bad.

I focus on remembering the good times. Friends.  Fun outings.  Whistling ducks.  Sunsets on the beach.  Sunrise on the boardwalk.  Accomplishments.  Kinship and kindness.  Caring for sweet animals.  The laughter of children.  Greetings and conversations with strangers.  Making new friends.  Enjoying great meals.  Treasured moments with special people.  Yes it was a good winter.

Suddenly my thoughts start to derail—feeling dread for the insurmountable “to do” list waiting for me at home. Who knows what I’m returning to?  Then, instantly, thoughts shift to tremendous feelings of sadness, loss, heartbreak, hurt, disappointment, failure, frustration, futility, confusion and regret.  Terrible feelings stack up in my mind that I cannot push away; pressing on my chest hard and deliberate.  I begin envisioning pieces of conversations I’d rather forget, rerunning scenes from situations that should not have occurred.  I relive bits of the past 6 months that brought me to my knees more than once in sheer aggravation.

The dark sky unleashes a downpour of rain that forces me to pull over. Thunder, lightning, and whipping wind rocks the truck and trailer for half an hour.

In the privacy of my vehicle I realize this string of negative recollections is choking me breathless. It’s wrapping around my soul, squeezing me tight, stopping me from celebrating any of the good.

How can this be? This is not me! My thoughts slam into the single, most prevalent question….

What the hell did I just do with my life?

For someone who strives to see the glass as half full, it’s been pretty hard to accomplish it this time. I’m finding this last adventure is one I don’t want to share.  I don’t want to talk about it.  I don’t even want to think about much of it.

Perhaps I’m just going through a phase.

Perhaps I just need to decompress.

Perhaps it’s just from being stuck in the wee hours of the morning in a thunderstorm.

I don’t even feel like me.

The rain subsides, and we’re back on the road. I continue racing northwest on the wet highway with a powerful feeling of wanting to recluse.  Of wanting to curl up in a ball and disappear.  Somehow, I just don’t feel like reaching out to my people .  Feeling  worn out and broken I realize I’m developing a kind of resolve, and craving quiet, drama free space.  I’m still not healthy. I do feel like sleeping for a week—maybe two.  Oh I can see my bed.  Pillows and blankets and cool 60 degree nights.  I imagine my bathroom—my retro, yellow and red bathroom.  I miss that bathroom.  I picture my patio. There I am, gently rocking back and forth on the swing, listening to the traffic out front. I imagine shuffling about in my kitchen, cooking something amazing.  I miss Jack.

With a heavy sigh I revert back to that epic question……..

What the hell did I just do with my life?

Just keep driving.

The landscape is beginning to look familiar now. The sun has sprung up over the horizon behind me. A new day is here, and I am almost home.  “Welcome To Minnesota” is a sight for sore eyes as I cross the St. Croix river.  Street lights are flicking off as the city wakes up to a beautiful morning.

This road warrior is pounding down the highway–closing the gap on the last 20 minutes of the drive. There are no cars on the road. Everyone must still be asleep.  It’s a cool 63 degrees, halleluiah.

I need to figure out what the hell I just did with my life. And what’s next.

I have so very much to do.

There is so much to do.

So much.

I carefully make that last curve in the road. My house is just up ahead.

So much to do, indeed.

What’s that? Is that my place?

OH, WOW!barefoot

I pull over and park in the street, pushing the quagmire of mixed emotions I’ve been burdened with out of my mind. I jump out of the truck and run across the road to my house, excited and amazed.

Everything is simply going to have to wait until I do one simple thing—I just need to do one thing:

Off come the shoes, and with joyful abandon, I proceed to dance barefoot across my beautiful green lawn and brand new driveway!

Now I’m home!

 

Thank you for reading my post. Did it invoke anything in you? Was it inspiring?  Scary?  Funny?  Unbelievable?  I’d love to hear your thoughts!  All comments are greatly appreciated.  Life is an adventure—and it begins today!  Why wait for an invitation to live an amazing life full of great experiences? There are lots of inspirational stories under my blog category, “PRs Amazing Outdoor Adventure Update”.  If you like what you see, please let me know by “liking” my website. You can even join my tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’. 

 If you find yourself spending your time not doing what you love, I invite you to contact me to create your own, amazing adventure.  As always, please feel free to share with others who may find meaning and value in exploring limitless possibilities with PR Brady AdVentures. Thanks again!

 

 

 

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