Something about a stamp and a chapter

This is where I give you a nice little summary of the trip, and then I tell you everything that I learned, in three easy points that all start with the same letter.

And this is where we all laugh. Because after 8,886 miles, 34 days, 27 states, and Canada, I am too full. Too many people, too many places. Anything I write here in attempts at summary will be random and disjointed, and we’d probably be better off sticking with what I’ve already written.

So instead of an overall summary, I think I’ll share what’s on my mind right now, and then we’ll be done.

I keep thinking about the guidestones in Georgia, the size and angles and mixture of languages, and the echoing refrain to “Leave room for nature--leave room for nature.” I’ve thought about that a lot on this trip, as we’ve seen places where nature is thriving, and we’ve seen places, namely Niagara, that would do well to hear this. The guidestones set a tone for much of my thought process on this trip, and I like that. I would love to visit those again someday.

I keep thinking about all the different animals. Moose across the lake in Glacier, mountain goats on one of our hikes, seals, otters, entire herds of elk, and deer. Tons and tons of deer. Did I tell you about the night in Coos Bay? We were standing outside the house and saw some deer walking through the yard. Britton’s friend said they eat the apples that were growing there, so we grabbed a few and rolled them toward the deer. They never stopped being suspicious and jumpy, but we still got really close. Then a third deer stepped into the yard. The bigger of the first two made several really strange snorting sounds, stamped the ground, then chased the intruder out. It was crazy to watch. Such beautiful animals. Then our friend’s dog came out and scared them all away.

And lobster. Delicious, delicious lobster.

I keep thinking about the rhythms that we grew into on this trip. Packing and unpacking the car, driving, stopping, being amazed, meeting new people, reading out loud while Britton cooks, listening again and again to mewithoutYou’s newest CD. All of these things sort of fell on each other and formed a flow that offered a certain sense of familiarity, even when everything was new and we had no idea what to expect. I hope aspects of that rhythm will continue here, even after we’ve unpacked and cleaned the cars.

Speaking of continuing, that’s something that keeps making me smile. A few different times heading down the coast, I would think of the fact that our trip was almost over. And then immediately I would remember that this was not just a trip, it was a move. We’re not settling back into an old routine now, we’re starting something entirely new.

I keep thinking about the fact that the timing, a little over a month, is about right. It was long enough to remind us we were doing something big, but it wasn’t so long that we started taking it for granted. The past couple years of college were pretty intense for me, learning new things and letting my worldview and assumptions be challenged. And for Britton the past couple years have been filled with travel and newness all over the world. I feel like if we kept going, place after place after place, we would start missing out on something big. It feels good to have the brakes on for a bit, to look around this city and wonder about our involvement here.

I keep thinking about Kennedy, the drunk guy on the ferry back from Block Island, who was trying to squeeze between me and the lady to my right. He was funny, and it was entertaining to watch him and interact with him, but I feel sad for him. The comments from his friends suggested that that level of drunkenness was pretty common for him. They were used to it…he was like a mascot for them. But I wonder if they ever worry about him. I wonder if there’s ever talk of quitting or rehab or meetings or anything like that. I think about my dad and wonder if Kennedy has a family somewhere, wishing he could get sober long enough to show up for a wedding or graduation or a simple lunch.

We have seen a good deal of brokenness on this trip. I haven’t written about it before because, well…I’m not really sure why. But it’s there. We’ve seen married couples that don’t respect each other, social groups for whom drunkenness is a nightly sport, people driven by one thing or another to a sort of nameless bitterness that affects how they carry themselves and how they interact with others. We’ve seen poverty, unnecessary strife, exploitation of nature…I could go on.

But I won’t. Because from coast to coast, in cities and parks and homes and campsites, the good far outweighed the bad. We’ve seen more generosity than I could have imagined. That generosity came in the form of beds, homes, gift cards, conversation, directions, information, and food. Tons and tons of food. I have met so many new people, most of whom I may never see again, who are absolutely precious, with whom interacting has been a pleasure and an inspiration for me.

There is so much goodness. No matter what you hear on the news or in church, there is so much goodness. And beauty. If you look for it, you will see it. In stars and mountains and oceans, in busy streets and local shops, in smiles and random talks with strangers, in food and significant conversations with friends and family. Love is expressed in so many different ways by so many different people, and if you are willing to see it I guarantee that you will.

I am learning that people are at their finest when they are enjoying nature, and that if we are friendly to others then they will generally be friendly in return. I am learning that love and beauty are expressed in endlessly different ways, and that we as a nation are not nearly as divided as some would have us believe.

And I am learning that I have so much to learn. I’ve been reminded of this over and over, as stars or mountains or oceans or moons or wonderful people have made me feel terribly small. Again, in a good way. I think being reminded of our smallness can help us see and experience so much more.

So here we are, in Los Angeles. The driving has stopped for now, but hopefully the learning will continue. I’m feeling excited, about writing and the city and new friends. We went to a place called Millions of Milkshakes last night. I’m excited about that. And about the beautiful library we visited today, where I imagine I will spend many, many hours in the future.

There is so much more. I know that tomorrow, or even tonight when I’m going to bed, I will think of something else I want to add here. But I don’t think I will. I feel a sense of finality about this text and I want it to be true.

I’ll keep writing on this site. Stories, random thoughts, ideas, we’ll see. But there’s sort of a stamp on this one, turning a page or closing a chapter or something like that. Feel free to keep checking in. I’m sure I’ll write more about the trip in the future, as I remember people or specific thoughts or something worth mentioning. But if you’ve been checking in for general updates, then you can consider this the end.

I would love it if you’d stick around, though. It’ll be loads of fun.

One more time before I go: thank you so much to everyone we’ve seen on this trip. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it, from Bradenton and Jacksonville and everywhere up to Maine, to Michigan and across to Tacoma, to Oregon and down to California, right here to David and Neil who are continuing to amaze us with generosity. And people I’ve been catching up with on here, I’ve loved the feedback and the different stories you’ve shared. Thank you all.

And love.