Day 9: Arcata to Burlington Campground
I’ve been reluctant to write about this, but given it is the most compelling issue for me … and that I am devoted to making this blog into a real expression of my life … here goes.
For those of you who don’t know, I am separating from my partner of 20 years. It is one of the hardest experiences I’ve ever had, and much of the grief I’ve written about is my response to this loss.
How can I convey and understand and accept such a painful decision? Certain details aren’t appropriate for the blog, but I will be forthcoming if you want to message me personally.
Unraveling the fabric of a life together, going back, going back – questioning decisions I made, all the times I acted out of fear or anger, regrets for not being loving or compassionate, for arguing, controlling, no stone is unturned in this reckoning. Too hard on myself? No! Not hard enough. Not willing enough to feel, to open, to embrace this pain.
And here I am, out here, 500 miles from home. From a home that I have broken. Who am I, why am I here, why am I doing this?
Last fall, the tour seemed almost a hero’s quest. This time it feels like I am running away. From what? Running to what?
I am alone out here. As I need to be. For only alone will I encounter this fear, this pain.
And through the cycling, riding, riding riding … something moves. Moves me. Moves in me.
I left the quaint hippie town by first wandering through a bustling farmers market. So much beautiful food, beautiful people, celebrating with laughter and music. Tailwinds carried me along through Eureka and up to Fortuna. Then on to the Avenue of the Giants, more great ancestor trees, more chances to connect with the depth of existence.
I write now from my tent, warm and dry. Tears have dried again, as they always do. And I feel better after crying, as I always do. Something has moved in me.