The Only Constant

"Today, I stare down the sun, look hard at the world and all I've done. Today, I bask in the sun, with all things glowing, everything I've done"

Dessau, Sun 90

 

 

So many significant, direction-altering changes in the past year have knocked me a little off center. I know that that is what life does, but sometimes readjustment seems to take a long time.

I needed something familiar to help get me back to ground. For the past so-many years, spring has brought with it the opportunity to disappear into the desert. I've always found something there that completely recharges and inspires me. It's become a habit that is hard to argue with, and this year, it seems to be even more critical to my existence.

I can close my eyes and see the 190 stretched way, way out in front of me. I can feel the blast-furnace wind on my face, and taste the salty heat under a Badwater sun. There is some strange comfort in knowing the same ruthless challenges await, even though they will certainly be different.

This will likely be the last year that my friends and I journey to the low desert of Death Valley for springtime cycling. Many of our 'old-standby' friends, notably Jill and Tim, have already moved on. The world is simply too big, there are too many adventures waiting elsewhere. Already I have my sights set on some very different landscapes, and very soon I will be ready to step into more uncharted territory.

But first, I need to go back to start. I need to reconnect with whatever the thing is that gives me back my power, and I know I can find that in Death Valley.

 

What HOPE sounds like

Sometimes, I have so much going on in my head and in my life, that I don't know how I can even write about it. If I've been quiet here lately (and I have), that's why.

So I thought I might let other voices take over for me this time, voices that express exactly what I'm feeling, but that I couldn't possibly find the words for.

Open HERE with the volume turned up. Close your eyes, and listen.