|This old calendar page hangs in my entryway. “Where Thou art, that is home.”|
At the end of my trip, as I read a book that had nothing to do with Utah or Colorado or Japan, a wave of gratitude washed over me.
People all over this country (and counting Deanne, the world), took me in, fed me, bought me ice cream, gave me wifi passwords and comfortable beds. People dropped what they were doing in the middle of the day to meet me for lunch. People, after I’ve traveled all day, called and said “here’s what I want you to do–take the next exit and I’ll meet you halfway so you don’t have to drive all the way into town.” People gave me hugs and stayed up late talking.
And in some of those cases, the people who did these things hadn’t seen me in 4, 8, 10 years or more.
I am so humbled by the love and hospitality I felt while traveling. I’m even more humbled to think that if I had headed east instead of west, the story would have been identical–Chicago, Ohio, Massachusetts, North Carolina–I am keenly aware of the wonderful people I’ve met and grown to love in my lifetime.
And I cannot forget the dear friends in Omaha who were so happy to see me when I returned, and during the next few weeks, who will undoubtedly smile while suffering through my travel tales and bad photos.
This is a timely realization, two weeks before my birthday, a time when I tend to lament what I don’t have. This year it will be difficult for me to wallow in what I don’t have, when it’s so glaringly obvious that what I do have is so incredibly precious.
‘Til the next trip…