Most mornings, I write in a journal. I put a heading on each entry which has, since college, included the date, sometimes the time of day, and always the "byline" - which city I'm writing from. What a weird thing, to think as I did this morning that the "C___burg, MD" in the upper-right corner may not change, now, for decades. I mean, sometimes it'll probably say "Bethany Beach." It will most likely say "Washington, DC" sometimes if I write at the office, or maybe "Ligonier," when I visit my brother. Once or twice it might say things like "Charleston," "Asheville," "Santa Fe," "Napa Valley," "New York," "Edinburgh," "Kyoto," or, God willing, "Maui," if we go on good vacations. But it's never again likely to say "Arlington," or "Rockville," or "Bowie," all places I've lived here in the Metro area, because we've found our House. Our Father of the Bride Part II House, about which we intend to become the Schmaltz Family (sorry if you don't get the reference). And that byline is definitely not going to say something like "Denver" or "Pittsburgh" or "Anchorage" because we've moved there. We've all made this agreement -- D and his ex-wife directly, I and the stepdad indirectly -- that we'll stay right here, within 50 miles of the White House (as if that were a healthy place to raise a kid), our little S and R blithely forming the growing center of our universe.
My own wanderlust had shifted significantly before I even met D, or I wouldn't have been able to agree to such a deal. Oh, I say that with such certainty. What do I know? I fell madly in love, with D and also with his kids S and R, and I have no idea that anything would have stopped me from signing on. Let's just say that I feel perfectly good and right about putting down roots for once, even if sometimes I think about 14 years from now, when R heads off to Bucknell or Wake Forest or Yale, as a big, gilded doorway opening wide on the chance to move somewhere else. Sometimes I think about it that way, I said. Not always. Don't panic.
I've always had this wanderlust, since my folks broke up when I was 13. It probably originated in just wanting to get the heck away from them, and the homey but limited place where I grew up, but it evolved I think from some sort of greediness, an enthusiastic snatching at experiences. One of my favorite endeavors has always been spending time in a new place. Even if all it amounted to was hanging out at an almost-deserted Golden Gate Park, or wandering around wharfs and churches in Edinburgh or lighthouses and pottery shops in Maine, I loved travelling, almost always on my own, and I loved talking to friendly strangers, eating different food and noting the different books on the front tables of the bookstores there. I loved the way the trees differed. Have you ever smelled a butterscotch pine in the Rockies? Or seen a prehistoric forest untouched by the scratching of mammals? Sometimes I tried extreme experiences, like paragliding or heli-hiking on a glacier (I don't like standing on glaciers, I discovered), but usually I just browsed in shops, or sat out in a public place with my journal and people-watched.
Travel is different when you go with someone else. Like my husband does now, my girlfriend Sara likes to fall asleep to the TV, and when we were in Sedona together, that was a new experience for me, just like having our "cards" read on some supernatural hot spot and being informed that we are both Queens of Hearts. My friend Carrie in New Zealand was like me in that she'd rather hang out with the locals -- the bus driver, the tourist boat captain -- than with other American tourists; I thought I was like her in that I could actually emigrate Down Under, but I was wrong on that count.
There's always some part of me that wants to stay a fish out of water; I would never be a good expatriate. Whereas Carrie started talking like a Kiwi and took up rugby along with a small cottage on the rugged coastline, even had I moved there I would have remained an outside observer, probably always writing about it in my journal and probably ordering Old Bay and the NHL package over the internet. Even when I've lived someplace for years, like Philly or Ann Arbor, or Charlotte, and even when I've got my favorite haunts and people and seasons -- in the south, my accent even changed -- I never became what you might call an honorary native. DC most certainly would have remained that way for me, since the vast majority of people who live there are also outside observers. As for C___burg, MD, my current byline? Our home with loyalties divided between Baltimore and DC? Well, travelling became something altogether different when I met D. For one thing, there's less of it: I'm a mom now, and also D has a grasp of this thing called 'cash flow' that I never really troubled with before. More of it has been to our beautiful family beach house and amusement parks, and there have been fewer March trips to my usual cold-and-grey spots like London, Scotland, and Massachusetts (sorry, Bit).
But most striking is the different experience of travelling with a man you really, truly love and trust. I have to make that distinction, because I have travelled with another man. Vince, a guy I dated in law school, and I went to Italy together to celebrate passing the bar exam. We fought and argued our way through Rome, Florence and Venice, though we look happy in the photos, mostly struggling over who was the leader of the expedition. As the man, he naturally (I suppose) thought he was; however, I didn't trust him to find our way out of a chocolate cannoli, especially given his complete lack of Italian language (I knew a very little) and his general lack of facility interpreting the nonverbal cues that are so important when the bus driver doesn't speak English. Besides, it was Italy. The locals --the men, anyway -- were much more helpful to me when he wasn't around.
D and I, meanwhile, have made countless short trips and two long ones, to Ireland (where I thought I was going to get engaged) and to Hawai'i (on our honeymoon). Those trips have been hugely different than what they would have been had I been alone (and not for the obvious, bedroom-y reasons). I felt safer, more complete, and happier (I often used to get melancholy on trips, but then I used to get melancholy in the grocery store and at the hair salon, too). There was a richness to the experience that came from layering the blooming intimacy with D over the exploration of a new place. Dare I say it, there was even something peaceful and right about relaxing and allowing him to take charge most of the time. The trips were wonderful, both times. And D really is a great travelling companion. He makes me laugh, he searches high and low for anything I need or want, he is responsible and resourceful and adventurous and an excellent driver on the wrong side of the road. For all these reasons and more, I can't wait to try out a few more bylines with him, like Paris and Barcelona and even Deep Creek Lake.
In the meantime, I am looking forward to finding a permanent church home here in C___burg, becoming active in the schools and learning all the best hiking trails, cheeseburger places, and needlework shops within a 2-hour drive. I am excited to form bonds with our neighbors and understand local politics and find farmer's markets -- or maybe even a co-op! I've considered trying to start a book club (maybe next year) and I will definitely be looking for a mommies' group. The idea of setting down roots feels really good. It's my first try at growing them, though -- so send your prayers and any good cultivation tips you might have.
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