Goodbye

February 20, 2013

"Why aren't you taking your shortcut to the highway?" Desiree asks me.

I don't know what she's talking about. I run the question through my brain for a few seconds but I can't find the answer.

"What shortcut?"

"You know, down the hill and to the west."

It takes another half a second to click, but finally I understand.

"Umm ... I didn't even think about it. I've got a lot on my mind right now."

Most of the time when I say something like that I only have one thing on my mind, but I'm obsessing about it from six separate angles, one right after another, over and over again, so the thoughts seem a lot more complicated than they are. But today's different; I mean exactly what I say. That's because I'm about to leave Spokane behind and make my way south to San Diego.

Guilt sits at the top of the list. I feel very selfish for leaving behind my wife and dog for 14 of the next 15 weeks. Probably because I am, in fact, being very selfish. Even though I'm excited about experiencing another cross-country ride, I know that I'm leaving behind a space that no amount of phone calls, pictures, or clever turns of phrase in this journal can fill. If something amazing happens, I won't be there to share it. If something terrible happens, I won't be there to try and make it better. There's also a narrow slice of fear that sits alongside the guilt — a fear that life at home will move on without me, and that everyone will be ok with that.

The rest aren't quite so dramatic. I'm disappointed that I haven't yet finished up work projects and won't until some time around 2:00 in the morning. I'm upset with myself for having slipped into just about the worst shape of my life. I'm intimidated by the 1,600 miles I'll have to drive in less than four days. I'm anxious at the thought of leaving some important piece of gear at home by mistake. I'm annoyed that I'm already behind on this journal. There are a few more I can't remember because I didn't sleep enough last night and I haven't eaten anything but two packets of Cadbury Mini Eggs and a few raisins.

Where are you going with all that stuff?

Desiree drops me off at the airport on her way to class so that I can pick up the rental car. Even though we both knew this trip we coming, we haven't talked about it much at all in the last few weeks. We've figured out logistical issues like paying bills, making sure the car gets washed, and locking down the days when I'll be coming home, but emotion hasn't come up much along the way. I think that's because we both went through a long separation like this two years ago. We know what's coming, and we know it's going to be rough. And so goes our businesslike goodbye: the airport's pickup/dropoff lane, 60 seconds of goodbyes, a few hugs and kisses and I'll miss yous, and then we go our different ways for eight weeks.

Back at home I load up the rented SUV as quick as I can, wave goodbye to a dog who has no idea that I'm not coming back in a few days, and then head west.

Driving along Interstate 90 I pass by signs that announce the exits for tiny towns like Fishtrap, Schrag, Tokio, and Paha. Every time I make the drive from Spokane to Seattle I like to spend an hour or two scanning the AM band of the radio. At home the only time I end up there is when I want to find a station covering sports. It's familiar subject matter; I know what they're talking about and I can relate. Out among the rolling hills and soybean fields and wind farms of Eastern Washington, the AM radio experience is something altogether different. It's a look into a world that's nothing like the one in which I live.

A cycle through the dial from low to high sounds like this: "...we can help with reverse mortgages..." ..... (static) ..... (excited, rapid-fire Spanish backed by mariachi music) ..... (static) ..... "That's crazy! I can't make people not be emotional!" ..... "...the surpassing greatness of the revelations..." ..... "...term life insurance for less than you expect..." ..... (static) ..... (static) ..... "...gold is down $100 an ounce in the last 30 days. More after this." ..... (a commercial encouraging people to move their retirement money into a gold IRA) ..... "I think Gonzaga wins by 18 or more tonight." ..... "President Barack Hussein Obama is addicted to spending taxes, like an addict to cocaine, like a drunk to bourbon. We're finished. It's over." ..... (the last half of the Prince song "Raspberry Beret").

It's the audio equivalent of a garage sale held by the crazy old guy down the street who hasn't thrown anything away for the last 35 years.

Almost to Seattle, so of course it's raining.

Five hours later I'm in Edmonds, the town where I grew up, not far from Seattle. There I enjoy a huge sendoff meal of steak and potatoes and corn and hot fudge sundaes with my dad and his girlfriend/amazing human Renae. They take dinner conversation seriously; in the span of about two hours we tackle the origins of religion, 9/11 conspiracies, America's education system, the effects of lazy parenting, adultery, and how to change the world. (This is not an exhaustive list.) F-bombs are dropped, emotions run high, but by the end everyone's full and happy and ready for a deep, satisfying sleep.

As the clock turns over to 4:00 a.m., I lay awake in bed thinking over what I'm about to do. I don't have the nervous energy that almost always comes around the night before I'm about to do something impressive. It seems more like I'm heading out on business trip at this point than anything else. I hope that feeling goes away, and fast.

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