Tuesday, October 6, 2020
I have come to realize that I have always been a wanderer. I just tend to forget about it at times. Aimlessly drifting. No where to go but so very much to see. No special skills required. Just a bit of curiosity. That inquisitiveness that we’re all born with. Not quite a nomad, I have always had a fixed habitation, but I have also always felt a strong instinctive urge to explore, even if it’s just in my own backyard. I had passed this dirt road five or six times on rides this year. I’d glanced over. And kept riding straight past it. Sunday morning, I turned. I accepted its invitation. I embraced its hospitality. And after consuming its dirt offering, I also meandered out to that tunnel under the highway and to that old wooden covered bridge. Nothing planned. Everything made up as I went. Just happily wandering. When I was a kid, me and friends would spend our days “riding around on our bikes”. There was rarely a specific destination that we were pedaling to. Unconsciously searching. Scouring our neighborhood for cool places to hang out and ride. No expectations whatsoever, even if we were still driven by a certain hope. A futile search for lost domestic treasures. A heightened awareness of our outer and even our inner worlds. Surrendering. Letting life unconsciously guide us. In complete harmony with existence itself. Wandering wasn’t really something that we did. It was something that we allowed to happen. Spontaneous. Natural. One with this world. Wandering has so much to teach us, about our communities, and also about ourselves. It is about living in the moment and about creativity. A life metaphor showing us that everything is forever changing. Everything except the fact that I have always been and will always be a wanderer.