Road Trips – Dream 260823

Journey is never about the destination, it is always the hearts, minds and experiences along the way.

Perry W, Ng, Mary, Moses, Joel b, mom and dad. A bunch of others.

Traveling west. Towing dad's flatbed, Kermit the towed, desth maxhine, dirt, other stuff. Camping, maybe?

State Hwy 287 figures prominently. I grew up 5 blocks from the state highway, which today is the very tail end of I-44. And ironically, I live 5 blocks from it now… on the opposite side of town.

It has always been present when I travel. East or west, it’s 287, north: I-44.

Keep having trouble staying together with the group. I drive ahead and lose contact, then find everyone again. They are usually having a good time, unworried about the route, or packing, leaving anyone behind.

Phones seem intermittent. Or calls are easily missed? Tracking isn’t working. I feel lost between places… lots of worry.

One point I am rollerblading through hills (nice rural neighborhood with fresh, smooth blacktop). I am SO fast and smooth. I pass cars, cut through beautiful green yards. Someone is behind me, but can’t keep up. I slow and wait at first, but after passing a harvest gold 1979 Ford LTD, I can’t help but go fast as I can. It’s an adrenaline rush.

Eventually, I run out of the really choice routes, end up going down the old alley across from my grad school, past the 7-11 where I used to buy comics ($1.26 for two issues including tax) and turn onto the hwy access road wheee the asphalt is faded and has all those little pebbly rocks that made it a nightmare for skates and skateboards.

Here I find Ng at a roadside stand selling newspapers. She is sad and forlorn. This is significant because she is rarely sad and forlorn. Though the last few years I see this face more than I want too. Sitting hunched on the ground, on a stack of newspapers. I get her a chair. There are several scattered among patrons. The first is a rusty metal folding chairs i pass on it and get her a dinner chair with a padded seat. It is brown.

She complains of feeling abandoned and let down. Frustrated that I left her here all by herself.

Her mom shows up, I leave them to go find the party. It occurs to me that she often complained I out others before us. Am I doing this now? But she doesn’t come with me, preferring to stay with mom. I look for the group. But can’t find where I left them. There was a big conversation about how to load out so nothing got left behind. We had more vehicles than we did drivers.

I get a call from a debt collector. He can’t tell me what the debt is for, only to pay him.

Wake up.

I feel bad leaving everyone. I can’t forgot why invited find them. I feel worry and guilt after waking.

I'm moving through life carrying a history and responsibility. Somewhere underneath it I'm afraid that I’ll get too far ahead, outrun and lose people, and discover that I failed obligations I can’t clearly see.

feeling something is wrong, somebody is missing, and that it is somehow my responsibility to make it right — without telling me exactly what went wrong.

Odd, In consciousness, i feel like i know where I went wrong and what my debts are. The camping journey anxiety is an old one… when I used to organize camping trips 20-30 deep, it was a foundational fear that I would make a mistake that would cause some to lose out.

Then there was the near drowning of BP and RN… was that my last big trip? I think it was… HOW could that have been more than 15 years ago?!?!?

  1. When I am responsible for a group of people, what am I secretly afraid will happen if I lose control of the logistics?
  2. What did the BP/RN near-drowning teach me—emotionally, not intellectually—about being responsible for other people's safety?
  3. When I think about the camping trips I organized, do I remember more of the joy and connection, or the possibility that something could go wrong?
  4. What does “leaving someone behind” mean to me? Is it physical abandonment, emotional neglect, choosing someone else over them, or simply failing to anticipate their needs?
  5. When Ng tells me she feels abandoned, what part of me immediately believes her—and what part of me wants to defend myself?
  6. Where in my present life am I still trying to be the driver, coordinator, rescuer, or person who makes sure nobody gets left behind?
  7. What happens inside me when I choose my own speed, pleasure, freedom, or excitement—as I do while rollerblading—and someone else can't keep up?
  8. Who are the “people in the convoy” of my life right now, and which of them am I afraid I might be leaving behind?
  9. What are my actual debts—the things I genuinely believe I owe people—and which “debts” might be inherited feelings of responsibility that nobody is actually asking me to pay?
  10. If I stopped believing it was my job to make sure everyone arrived safely, happily, and together, what would I be free to do with my own life?

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“May your seas be wide enough for wonder, your harbor always waiting, and your light never fail when another soul is searching.” – The Lantern Keeper