I’m sitting around the table in the condo high up in the mountains of northern Arizona and thinking about what to write this morning. And all around me are special friends of mine who came together for this incredible trip.
It occurs to me that, since my divorce, I have traveled alone quite a bit and loved it. But every time I travel alone, I go inward, get contemplative, read books, write ponderous things and really scrutinize what I believe and how I live.
This time, I’m just cruising along the winding highways, laughing in the big packed minivan and not really getting too deep in the meaning of anything. I am just enjoying my friends and the fact that my life is full of rich friendships.
It’s a different kind of travel.
You know, I brought three books on this trip. I haven’t even cracked one!
In a few weeks, I leave for India. It’s a long trip, to the other side of the world, to another world altogether. In my head, for all these months of planning, it’s been a journey of the soul, a trip with lots of pockets of solitude and quiet and contemplation and missing home.
I’m wondering if that is anywhere near the truth.
It just might be a dive into the world of connection. An exploration of relationships and conversation.
Perhaps I don’t need that many books on my iPad then either. (Actually, with several long flights, I’m betting the reading will come in handy.)
When we contemplate, is it out of loneliness? Or true wondering?
And when we are full of connection, is the soul sated?