Comings and Goings
by Claudia Horwitz, July, 1999
Again, I am packing. Again, I am watering my plants, stopping mail delivery, and cleaning out the fridge. Again, I am driving East on Interstate 40 towards the Raleigh-Durham Airport; moments later someone will hand a boarding pass. After some time in the air, I will be in a place that is not my home. Surely, this new spot will have something in store for me—a lesson, a relationship, an experience I did not know I needed.
This is my life. I come and I go. I'm here, in my hometown of Durham, NC for a few days at a time, maybe a week or two, and then I am gone again. From last July through this coming July, I will be away 141 days. 141 nights in a bed not my own, 141 mornings looking for a place to meditate, 141 days spent wondering what the weather is like in North Carolina because it is probably too cold, too rainy, too something wherever I am. 141 days of dislocation and all of the stimulation, anxiety, and revelation that goes along with that.
One hundred and forty-one. I computed this staggering figure when I started feeling exhausted back in late April and I wasn't sure why. "Well, you do travel a lot..." a couple of friends said. Do I, I wondered? It wasn't that I failed to notice I was away from home a lot. In the first three months of 1999 I was in Richmond, VA, Los Angeles, Denver, San Francisco, New Mexico, Dallas, Houston, New York, and South Africa. But all of this moving around was so invigorating, how could it possibly cause discomfort?
The fatigue that crept over me was devastating. At first I told no one. I did not want to admit I was actually experiencing all of the things people were always asking me about. ("How do you manage to live like this? Don't you get sick a lot? Aren't you exhausted? Do you feel like you have a life??") When the heaviness persisted however, I began to confide in a few friends and family members. Most urged me to go to a doctor; a couple of folks suspected it might be anemia. I put it off but within a few days I felt so debilitated, so unable to do much of anything, that I had to figure out what was going on. I took all of the requisite blood tests and handed over the big bucks, only to find out there was nothing seriously wrong with me. The doctor convinced me that I really just needed more rest and I was ordered to do as little as possible in May. My body gave me little choice other than to oblige.
My acupuncturist and a polarity therapist gave me a rundown of what happens to the body during travel, particularly airplane travel. We discussed the effect on energy, on the psyche, on the nervous system. Let me tell you, it wasn't pretty. These conversations opened the door for treatment; these treatments plus a very healthy dose of rest, healthy food, and vitamins opened the door for healing. I was back on the road, hitting Florida, Boston, and Philadelphia in the first couple of weeks of June before preparing to head off to Washington, DC to help staff a month long interfaith program for high school students. And believe it or not, I feel fine.
Why was I so unwilling to admit to myself that all of this moving around was taking a toll on me? Why was I so reluctant to get help? And, why was I right back at the airport just days after the month of May ended?
Because I love the going away from home and I love the returning. I love filling up my green backpack with expectation. I love wondering what it will be like there, wherever "there" is. Most pilgrims tend to know where they are going, but less about what the journey itself will be like. The truth is, every time I leave home, magical things happen, the nature and impact of which I can never predict. In Houston, I teach yoga and meditation to a group of hard-working child advocates. They are grateful and I feel useful. In Taos, I take a hike into the Red River gorge. In Denver I assist a group of VISTA volunteers as they make a breakthrough in their teamwork. In Florida I witness a wedding by the ocean, filled with the live sounds of Doc Watson. In Philadelphia, I participate in a social action training for people who work with groups and discover new strengths within myself. In Dallas, my friend Liz takes me to mass at her church, Our Lady of Guadalupe, one of the oldest Catholic churches in the United States. In Albuquerque I gather with a group of community activists to discuss high school violence and the implication for youth work.
Lessons, relationships, experience. Couldn't I find these at home? Probably, but for me Durham's is a subtler kind of magic. Maybe home is always like that, unless you live in a huge city, or even if you do. I have come to see this place more as a place of rest than adventure. Not just a stopping place where on refuels for the next lap around the track, but truly a peaceful place. It engenders the stillness that allows for movement again.
Ironically, I am a Cancer and we value the domestic life, crave it even. The day after I arrive home from a trip I spend more time in bed, do laundry, go food shopping, and hang out on my roof. I do not rush back to work any more. I settle into my life, letting the joys of the journey wash over me, and the transition complete itself. It is a deliberate pause in which to notice the lively magic of the road and the quiet magic of home.
I remember entering the home of a friend's grandparents a few years ago. On the outside, it looked like any other house in that Washington, DC suburb but the inside was filled with artifacts and folk art from all over the world. Where did all of this come from? My friend offhandedly mentioned that his grandparents had traveled for many years before moving into a house, sometime in their late-40's. Something resonated with me. Perhaps opportunities for coming and going would present themselves in my own life. Perhaps I could leave home without having to wonder what would await me upon return. And perhaps periods of expedition would not preclude but actually enrich a time of digging into one place a bit later in life.
I think there is a time for moving around and a time for staying put. For whatever reason, this is my time for moving around. Maybe this is why I don't own my own home, I don't have a dog, I am not in a committed relationship. It seems strange to rearrange one's life merely in anticipation of something. I think I will continue this meandering for a while. I will continue to cherish the going, the exploration, the chance to dip into other lives that are not permanently mine. And, I will always love that moment when my plane is landing and I can see the trees of Umstead Park not far from the airport and I realize all over again how much I love coming home to where I live.