Labor Day

Ever since I took off in the camper van in late August, my inner two year-old is pretty sure it's time to do it again when Labor Day rolls around. I reinforced this conviction the first couple of years back in town when I took off again for my month-long trips in the summer and early fall. She's downright moping this weekend at the realization nothing exciting is going to happen this fall. The only thing happening on the day after Labor Day will be me hoisting my rear into gear and getting it into work.

**sigh**

It was seven years ago last week when I threw all the cards in the air and took off for points unknown. I spent five months on the road before moving off on my long detour. Though the trip recedes in my rear-view mirror, I carry vivid images of beauty and peace with me yet today. I call them up when I lay down at night, they calm my breath, they calm my mind. Spending day after day journeying to beautiful places healed my soul in places I didn't know needed healing.

There was no particular destination in my travels that stands out - the cliche is true - it was all about the journey. I didn't get anywhere, but everywhere I got, I found what I was looking for.

This past week, I've found myself especially homesick for those days of being, not doing. I have my lists of things to get done, at home and at work. I have goals and measurements and check marks next to completed items. I do a pretty decent job of keeping up with the curve, and every once in a while, getting ahead a bit, but my heart isn't in it.

My gut understands why I go into the office. Retirement might last for a coupl-a-three decades. I don't really want to shortchange my future because I'm restless in my present.

But my inner child is afraid. The gaps between my fingers where time slips through grow ever wider. The days last about the same amount of time they always have, but the weeks and months are here and gone before I've had a chance to savor the gifts they brought. I am afraid I live on borrowed time, that the cancer will come back, and I'll have wasted the only days I have staring at a monitor so I can collect a paycheck. Right now, that paycheck represents a more secure future. What will it represent if I find another lump?

I'm looking for the balance. The point where I have enough in reserve where, God willin' and the crick don't rise, I can take care of myself through retirement, but not so much I waste any of my precious days working for nothing but an extra cushion. Where is the magic moment?

I'm not precisely sure, but I think I'm approaching it with some speed.

And, until it gets here, I will calm my fears with the images from my time apart from my real life. The time I kept my time for myself. The time I trusted in the Universe to help me to land on my feet after my big leap. I trusted, and my trust was rewarded. I need to trust again. When the time is right, I will know.