On the one hand, having slept in 60 beds means we've covered lots of travel territory. Let's see, we've crossed from Chicago to California by car with stops in Colorado (Mesa Verde, Nat. Park), Tucson (Sanguaro Nat. park), and Palm Desert. We've crossed the Atlantic by ship with stops in Normandy, France, Lisbon Portugal, and Amsterdam. We traveled by train, plane and bike to Brussels, Dublin, Ireland's Connemara Coast, Scotland, and Copenhagen and by ship to Norway, Iceland, Shetland Island, Faroe Islands and by land to London and then by plane to NYC. Back in the US, we made stops in Seal Beach, CA, San Juan Islands, WA, Ashland, OR, Crater Lake, OR, Olympic Nat. Park, WA and the Oregon coast. Quite the gap year of travel.
Just as summer was yielding to fall in North America, we set off for Vancouver, BC for a cruise to several Hawaiian Islands (Hawaii, Maui, Oahu) and on to Southern Hemisphere locations such as Tahiti, Bora Bora, North Island of New Zealand and finally Sydney where Spring has taken hold. In less than a week, we'll head to New Zealand to join a bike trip. This is all good. In fact, it is great and we consider ourselves lucky.
When I was working, I was mesmerized by stories, blogs, articles about vagabond
seniors who had sold their homes, cars, unnecessary stuff and set off with a bag each and an enthusiastic sense of adventure. I deeply envied these folks and their freedom, especially when I battled Chicago's Siberian-style winters. Now I'm sort of one of those vagabond seniors, but on a temporary basis, for we still own a car that's resting in Bend, have stuff stored in Indiana, and have a contract on a house that is about six weeks away from completion.
Despite my freedom, I have mornings when I wake up homesick for my own place. While I might be in a great city like Sydney, I long to slip on my yoga pants (which are stored in some unknown place), stream an American movie, stretch out on the couch (which no hotel room we've stayed in has) and simply hang out. But how silly would it be to "waste" a travel day doing that? At times, I miss down time.
Anyone who knows me and probably every person who stepped into my practice knows my love for the "Cost - Benefit Analysis," which simply stated means for every decision or choice we make there is a cost and a benefit. When we choose something, we let go of something else -- but not without a cost.
Our seven months of "gap-yearing about" has afforded us travel experiences and memories and some great times with family and friends. But it has come at the cost of missing birthday celebrations, family gatherings, conversations with friends, more than a few dental appointments, frequently laundered clothes, and who knows what else that make up the richness and routine of life. At some point in our travels, I saw a t-shirt that boldly exclaimed "You can have it all -- just not all at the same time." I like this thought, though I would amend it to "Many can have it all -- just not all at the same time." For me, it captures the essence of the cost-benefit analysis. It also helps me clarify how I feel about the 60 beds -- and still counting. I can have it all, far-reaching travel, family gatherings, time with friends who are scattered afar, clean clothes, and my own home -- just not all at the same time.
Celebrate the 60 beds (and counting) it is. Dressed in our clothes of questionable cleanness, we watched a female kangaroo feed while the Joey tucked safely in her pouch intently watched us. Earlier, we witnessed a young male koala attempt to scale a fence, quickly give up, and then dash to the safety of a bushy tree where he indulged our endless photo taking. These adorable marsupials helped us celebrate R's birthday in a special way. Oh, time enough in the future for cleaner clothes, American movies, and a couch and home of our own. For now we'll keep counting those beds.
