One month. Thirty days on the road. Thirty mornings of waking in a new place and wondering where we’ll go that day. Thirty nights of sleeping somewhere that you know is not yours, not ideal, sometimes not even good, and definitely not home.
Maybe it doesn’t sound like a big deal. But it feels like it. Very big. I know I’ve said this before and I am sorry to whine and be a weenie, but it’s hard. Harder than I thought it would be. And yet, it is awesome. Truly awesome. And not in any way I thought it would be.

I thought it would get easier. Not yet. Every day presents a new flaming hoop to jump through. Sometimes I long for familiar, my bed, a bath, my husband, my dog. Knowing at least more or less what the day will bring. Knowing more or less where tomorrow will lead.

Slow travel. That’s what it is. Traveling slow. Think slow food, right? It’s a new movement, a new way to move. Slowly. Take your time. What’s the rush, and yet at the same time, if not now, then when? Time to see. To feel. To get it. To flow. Like a stick in a river. It’s not measured by miles you plan to travel or goals you intend to meet. You just get out there and see how it goes. And try to do your best.

I was thinking one month per state yet I’m still in California, and with my latest reroute, I’ll likely be here a couple more weeks. Forget expectations, assumptions, demands, and heaven forbid, plans. Try to flow. Day after day. Another day of having these lessons in letting go drummed into my brain.

I have not taken time to share much with you. I’ve barely taken the time to write a few stories in my journal each night as I tuck in my tent with the horses resting right beside me. There is so much I want to write, so much to share, but I’m exhausted. Caring for them comes way before writing to you. But you knew it would be that way.

Today on this layover day there are two things I really want to tell you. The first is beautiful. The second is sad.

The beautiful one is about angels. Again. Again and again and again. About the kindness of strangers. About my restored faith in humanity. Because after thirty days out here, i can tell you every single day has shared some magic. And that magic is people. Never thought I’d say it, but here i am, telling you. I have seen more kindness, generosity, hospitality, compassion and connection than i have ever seen. It’s not that it’s new. It’s just that I’m finally seeing it. I’m out here. Open to it. Receiving it. Sharing it. There has not been one day that I have not had at least one beautifully positive encounter with people. And not one day that people have been bad (though that sheriff in shingletown who was pretty sure we were up to no good … sure wish she would lighten up and smile some. )

Every day has challenges. Everywhere for everyone, right? The thing is to try and make certain every day has magic, too. Grace, beauty, amazement, awe…call it what you will. Thats what I need to get through. It’s what we all need.

And connection. I never need it like I do now. Be it the kindness of strangers or friends from back home. There is kindness out there. It is huge. It’s real. It’s not what I expected. It’s that opening, that courage to see, taste, touch. To share, rather than remain behind closed doors… That’s where serendipity, synchronicity, and magic are made. That’s we’re grace resides.

The sad one is this. Yesterday, Canela told me she had enough of this journey. I love that mare. I know her intimately. She was born into my hands. We are deeply connected. She knows how to talk to me and I know how to listen. And what she told me was this.
She is done. She has had enough. She wants to go home.
I hear you, mama.
I know, she says as she stands beside me resting her head upon mine while I sit on the ground and write. Lay down, I tell her. You are so safe here. But she is stubborn. She is strong. She catches herself when her body is so tired she stumbles and falls.
She is a tough cookie. But this trip has been tougher. It’s not just the miles though there have been many of those. It’s the uncertainty. The stress of everything new. No knowns and givens. Traffic. Pavement. Bridges and towns. Log trucks and school buses and strangers saying hello. Not getting to lay down on your pasture like your bed at the end of a hard day, and waking knowing you’ve got another hard day ahead.
She wants to go home.
I am crying as I write that. She is my soul sister. I always felt I could do this trip because of her. Today she told me I may have to go on without her. I may send her home and continue on and make her pleased that her effort this whole month has been valiant.
She will be in the best of care and the best of places.
Home.
On her pasture without fenced like a bed without bars. In the care of a loving friend. With her daughter, Bayjura, who will be happier with her mama home.
And when Crow and I are ready, we will join here there too.
Maybe I should be tougher on them. Drag them along and force them to go. But i cannot, will not. No way. What I want are willing partners. What I want is to be good.

Like everything else and everyday this trip has been and every obstacle and flaming hoop we must leap through (self imposed, mind you), I’m not sure of the plan yet. I’ll let you know.

That was yesterday. Today is a new day. Every day is. Last night we both slept better, later, longer than we have in a month. Maybe Liz is right and it is the moon or she’s the one reading me. Maybe Angela is right and she needs a massage. In the meanwhile, Megan has offered to take her home if need be, Kati is searching for options, and Alison is praying.
Already on this journey, there have been more prayers than I at least am worthy of. I only wish I knew what I could do in kind. I think that is what I set out to find.
And so, in this quiet inner confusion, I remain feeling so full, so blessed, so grateful for the chance to be out here, for my horses and oddly, for humanity.

#kindnessofstrangers #horseadventure #spiritualjourney #ALongQuietRide