Permission to Disappear

There's this pressure when you go somewhere that you must document it — specifically, document and share live as you're experiencing it. As if you weren't really there if you weren't also broadcasting it. As if the moment doesn't count unless someone else witnessed it with you in real time.

I'm probably going to skip most of that this time.

My Beau and I are headed to the east coast to see family, and honestly? I'm looking forward to just being there. I might share some moments here and there — I'm not going completely dark; I'm not made of stone — but I'm not planning to perform this trip. I want to actually take it in.

(Side note: the pups are in safe hands, though they are absolutely not okay with being left behind and I feel appropriately guilty about it.)

Traveling with my Beau is one of my favorite things in this world. There's something about experiencing the journey with someone — the weird roadside stops, the inside jokes that only exist in transit, the way you learn things about a person when you're both a little outside your routine. It's always been our dream to travel more than we do. We're not quite there yet, and with the way the world feels right now I'm holding that dream a little closer and sending up prayers to the goddesses and the universe that we get there before the chaos wins.

But here's what I keep coming back to.

Vikings get a reputation as warriors — fierce, battle-ready, always fighting something. And yes. But that's not the whole picture. Vikings were also travelers. Some of the greatest explorers the world has ever known. They didn't stay home and document the idea of a voyage. They got in the boat.

The journey wasn't content. The journey was the point.

So that's what I'm doing. Getting in the boat. My son is holding down the fort, the pups are (reluctantly) supervised, and I am going to try something a little radical — being somewhere without making sure everyone knows I'm being there.

I'll be back soon. The table is still set.