Waiting on the Platform

I took a drive yesterday... the kind that ends with the question, "Where am I and why don't I remember the last hour?" It's the nature of driving, and travel in general, that in very special moments one is able to lose all sense of space, self, and time. It's an incredible mindset I can compare only to stories my mentor Smiddy used to tell me about his mountain retreats. A man, a cabin, and a month in your own mind... things come up.

I love traveling more than most things. While its true that I enjoy the classic elements of travel (the sights, the sounds, the tastes, the people!), more than anything I enjoy the rare opportunity to feel "lost." To wake up in a foreign land, armed with only wits and a camera... no map, no plan, no expectations. Things come up. Maybe it makes me a little crazy (or only confirms that I'm actually my father's child), but I have difficulty describing my affinity for this experience. I've been craving that feeling for a while now, and yesterday I think it just overtook me. I blame it on genetics.

Ironically, this afternoon I got an e-mail from my Dad who's currently traipsing through Peru. He asked whether I thought he was going mad. He asked:

"Isn't it so that a man should do with his life what he wishes because it's his life. If Obama wants to lead his country and that's how he wants to spend his life, then he should have our support, and we gave it to him. If I want to run away from my country and become a tratamundos with a backpack and a running case of giardia, fending off robbers, shouldn't I also have the same opportunity?"

A few days before he left for Peru he went to the doctor about a nagging cough. Days later he had a heart aneurysm diagnosis and a his doctor's tentative "Okay, it's a bad idea but you do what you want.". In my own heart, I never doubted he'd go. He is mad, but so am I. We're addicted to the adventure of new places, things, and people. We're addicted to losing ourselves in those places, things, and people. I recall my own solo adventure across Italy, waiting in the dark on the platform at the stazione, feeling completely and wonderfully lost. Yeah, it's not for everyone.

When I heard about my Dad's heart, I thought a lot about my own. That which I truly love has never been material, it's experiential. In the absence of all things tangible, (most of us) have only our memories: those moments of feeling lost, unexpected words, the blood red Texas sunrise as I shoot down the I-35 overpass to class, the chill of a Colorado morning, familiar voices, a gentle touch, all mixed with a little pain and hope. So while I think my Dad is indeed mad, I understand his desire to create these memories. Life exists only in this very moment... but love exists in all those memories embedded in our hearts. If that won't fix an aneurysm, then...

Lost.