Outside there is a thunder storm raging unlike any I have
ever heard. To compare the boom of
thunder to Thor’s Hammer would be to greatly underestimate the power of the
explosion outside my window. In a vast contrast,
the rain trickles in a serene consistency beckoning the unsuspecting toward the
land of nod – only to be violently awoken by the next cacophonous blast. Even
in these surroundings, it is not about my new home that I write, but about the
one I left behind.
I’ve been doing this travel writing thing for a while
now. The hardest articles to write are
the ones about places that you leave behind.
While the destinations are exciting and hold a vast treasure trove of
unexpected observations, it is sometimes difficult to find just the right words
to describe what it is you are moving from, but travelers always have a
departure for every arrival.
In my travels, I sometimes visit small rural
communities. Their quaintness and the
tight weave of the network of inhabitants remind me of a home I once left. It wouldn’t be fair to say that everyone
knows everyone. It would be fair to say that you’re no more than one degree of
separation from everyone in town. I
recently received some bad news which affects not one, but 5 of those
someones. Unfortunately, I don’t know
which 5.
I will stop there.
While I am sad and this is something that I am dealing with, it isn’t
the point of this post. As some of you
know, I have moved on to a new and exciting destination and will spinning new
yarns of Central America and gorgeous worlds and lands. Before I do that though I need pay tribute to
the places of yore. In my new home, I
see a small tight knit committee in which neighbors are family and kids are
sent next door to play. Everyone watches
out for the kids in the street because they aren’t “their” kids, they are “our”
kids. It is easy to recognize because
that is how I grew up. Kids waited at
the bus stop well after their parents left for work because if one kid missed
the bus, whichever neighborhood parent was home would bring them.
I am living with a new family who has taken me in as one of
their own. This is also not a first for
me. I am often reminded of another
family who sheltered within their community and called me one of their
own. I will forever be connected to both
of these families.
It is in part because of the places that I come from that I can
see the love and community in the places where I will go. Because I have been fortunate enough to be
connected to so many places, it is also inevitable that pain and misfortune
will reach communities that I am a part of.
Tonight I am missing home, and worried about the people
there, but I am grateful to have so many places to call home and so many people
that I am connected to.
….
Life is very hectic at the moment and does not include much
internet access. That said, I am still
writing. As a temporary measure to keep
the content flowing, I will begin a series of posts that I’ve been working on,
but which have very little to do with my current travels. Please enjoy my thoughts on gratitude over
the coming months.