Despite having swum with piranhas and sky-dived over the ocean, I'm adventure-adverse. I like security. Crave it. But a year ago when Kev suggested we pack up for a month to do Australia, New Zealand and Fiji, I was all for it. This year would never end. We'd never really go. But now we're here, (with an insane and wonderful 20 month old) and I have to admit, there have been times when I wish we were home (or had a home, I guess) instead of hopping from place to place. I told you, adventure-adverse.
But there have been moments of beauty so far, and I don't want to forget them. Claire's jet-lagged head, resting on my shoulder - something she never does. The rare moment in the hell-pit of a flight, when she reached for me in delirium, one hand cupping my chin like I was the truest thing in her life.
Her startle as the kangaroo she was petting sneezed. A moment of catharsis after attempting to reconcile feelings about our marriage to Kevin, only to realize that it was about me all along - that it had nothing to do with us. Our lost camera and the $1.25 call to the crowded Kings Park in Perth, and being told our $700 camera was turned in to the lost and found, all of the pictures from our trip saved.
Waking up on a landing plane, and catching my first sight of the Indian Ocean.
The world is so big, but it offers itself to us - to our imagination as Mary Oliver says. We're allowed a small window of time to see it and use it, before it's someone else's turn.
I'm grateful to a husband who has made my life richer and fuller and riskier than I ever imagined. Grateful to have a daughter who is learning this from him too, because I may not live forever, but I love the thought of my child, my blood, traipsing through this beautiful world long after I'm gone.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.