It feels like we've been in New Zealand longer than two weeks (actually, we have — when I started this entry is was the 8th, but it's Valentine's Day when I'm getting around to posting). When we flip through the photos on our camera and see all the things we've done and the places we've been so far, it feels more like it's been MONTHS, not just one. Jenn thinks we need to slow it down a little, or we're going to burn out.
And Fiji? Fiji feels like it was a different year, another time. And yet it was only a few weeks ago.
Adjusting to the camper van took some time for both of us, but we now have our routines down and know where to find (mostly) those irritating little items (combs, keys, pens) that enjoy going missing. I was worried that I would find sleeping in the camper to be troublesome — uncomfortable, hot, etc. — but we both sleep very well and easily, albeit for the snoring now and then. Not sure who's responsible for that...
I am beginning to reclaim myself a bit — that "lid on the jar" getting looser all the time. I had my van-trum day when I "hated the camper and everything in it" and was certain I would gouge my eyes out with the end of my toothbrush before two months was up (if I could find my toothbrush, that is...)
But, like all moments, it passed. The next morning, I reminded myself that I needed to surrender to it, not try and maintain my old expectations in this new environment. That brought me some measure of peace which I now cling to. It works quite nicely.
Both of us assumed we would have to take "motel breaks" now and then to break up the camper van life, but neither of us are there yet.
My thoughts are lighter. My asthma is non existent which is a real pleasure after three years of inhalers and not really being able to take a full breath. I don't worry about fifteen things that need to get done in a day — a real privilege. My resistance to the moments and events that come at me is much lower. I find I can let it flow through me where as a month ago, I'd want to grab on and hold it, sort, it, absorb it and then let it go — when I was ready.
An enlightened teacher once tried to explain his state of being as, "I don't mind what happens." I am not there — I often find myself minding what happens very much. But, I do understand a little better what he means.
I had a day recently when my life situation few months ago — work, our house on Dilworth — was all very close and present, rolling about in my thoughts. For the whole day, I carried the the people and characters, events and conversations around with me like two heavy bags as we hiked Cape Kidnappers.
But, it was, I believe, the last gasp. It has faded and holds no momentum. This is now our life. It is no longer a holiday or a long trip. It's just how we live, traveling from town to town, site to site, stopping in at i-sites to get the lowdown and then finding a campsite. You scrounge coins for laundry. Check out the Wi-fi rates. Chat with your new neighbours and compare stories. Look at the day's photos and write a blog entry. Make dinner (or drink it...)
This is it.
For now.
The trick is, how to hang onto this state that is developing?
Our goal was to find a new way to be, to reset ourselves and already, both of us feel that reclamation coming around. But, we can't always live like this. Can we?
Our choice to travel was to put ourselves in a situation where it would be most easy, most productive to reset ourselves and see what new emerged. But, how do we go forth with what we've discovered and forge a new life?
Not sure about that one...
And, now I leave you with a shot of a highly free range chicken trying to get into our camper. Jenn says we're kind of like that free range chicken ourselves - wandering around trying to get into things.
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