Start of March 2022
This past week, I decided that one day a week — Wednesday — I would take a wandering trip in my Cadillac, to somewhere in my vicinity. The price of gasoline to fuel my vehicle has limited me to a certain perimeter-mileage, but I’m okay with that limitation. I work well within my own prescribed boundaries.
It’s the boundaries dictated and imposed by others, upon my life, that drive me . . . to wandering.
I plow through that blizzard of lies as if I’m a knife slicing through a cake. My sharply edged weapon is the result of wandering, both planned and unplanned, through the places and spaces around me. My wandering is not aimless; any sincere and faith-filled wandering is always a search for those bedrock certainties upon which to move with more certainty in this journey called life.
Wandering is the way in which I find my paths off the beaten path, because that beaten path has been beat to death.
Wandering is the way to forge the unforeseen path that leads to a vibrant tomorrow.
Wandering is the road to the future, to the past, to the present moment. What more could anyone ask of any wish, desire, activity, goal?
Whether or not the wanderer finds all that he set out to find is immaterial, for the material is not the objective of the wanderer. The pilgrimage ennobles the pilgrim. Turning any dream into reality takes some money, but even more necessary are love, kindness, goodwill, the gentle nature of a dreamer — and her courage to believe in her beloved dream.
The road that stretches out ahead of me forces me to see the ugliness in others, the greed that did them in, the hatred that corroded their souls. I’m not one to catalogue those sins of others, or to focus upon them. My life is what it is today because I have not only survived, I’ve prevailed over those unavoidable demons in life. The vulgar sights of the vicious people are flashing billboards along the highway: the distractions from which my eyes look away. They’re the hyenas in our midst, and my ears silence them right away.
My eyes and ears stay laser-targeted on the blacktop before me.
The true wanderer is not a nomad, vagabond, gallivanter, rolling stone, gypsy, roamer, or rover. Ha! I’ve had every one of those names hurled at me, and more!
This wanderer is a dreamer, wandering with objectives in mind, in the creative mind that I cherish and protect so very much.
And, so, I wander like a lark, a bird in flight, and then I return home, to my nest.
Wander with me if you will. We’re all looking for that sunny day.