Here we are 47 days into this 6-month motorcycle road trip, currently in the heart of Tulsa, OK, and Sash and I are having doubts we can settle back into our home town of San Diego and stay there, locked into a rental agreement or a mortgage.
Any motorcycle riding maniac would love to just to keep on going and leave all those commitments behind. If they didn't have family, if they didn't have a house, if they didn't have a job, if they didn't have promises they had to keep, perhaps they'd stay riding until they died.
But if you embark on a journey with the intention to return, then you never really cut the umbilical cord. It's like walking outside naked to be bold and daring, but holding a bundle of clothes under your arm just in case someone sees you.
Somehow, I want to cut the umbilical cord.
Just the other night, Sash and I watched "Field of Dreams" on her laptop in our motel room. Beyond the obvious, the movie is about people who never went the distance with their ambitions, and opted to settle for what tiny opportunity they had, only to go on wondering how life could have been.
"If you build it, he will come." the voice said to Ray Kinsella.
Sash and I have done a lot to get to this point in our lives. We sacrificed long standing marriages, which uprooted and upset many others, and we still feel the reverberations of those actions in lost friends, lost income, and damaged credit ratings. We built this new relationship, new career, and new life. Others still see us as throwing away idyllic lives and marriages for new lovers.
But it's because we didn't really have much to begin with, aside from all the material things.
Choosing to do what you think is best, versus what you feel is best, is something we've all been faced with. And most of us, perhaps even all of us, choose the former and end up wondering how things might have turned out.
"You're thinking about your father right now, aren't you?" I asked her, as the movie ended.
She proceeded to tell me about her father, who died some 23 years ago.
"He's with me right now", she said. "He's riding along with me."
"Is there anything you wish you could brought with you for this trip?" I asked.
"No", she said, shaking her head.
The less stuff we have, the more we rely on ourselves, the more naked we become, the more we see ourselves. It's like riding in the Great Plains, you can't hide and everyone else can see you.
At the end of this six-month motorcycle road trip, we'll return to San Diego, but I'm not sure we'll put down roots. We may just stay there for a couple of months, and then get back on the road again. The Road Pickle. And just keep on doing it.