Reflections from Marsala

1/9/09
I'm finished. It is starting to sink in, slowly working its way into my psyche. I feel lonely, adrift in the world. I do not want to go on, knowing it is over: nor do I want to stop. And it is not uncertainty of my future or some fear of what lies ahead. I have grown so accustomed to having a set goal, an objective, a point on the map to be reached, that now I feel empty without it.

My denial stage manifested itself in a long walk to Marsala, to reach a symbolic objective, the westernmost tip of Sicily, lest I regret later not having reached it now. Still, even if it was artificial, it helped me begin to sort through these feelings. I guess I needed to take a walk to clear my head.

The euphoria, the feeling of accomplishment, is also present, of course. I do not like to mention it to myself, for fear that pride will rear his ugly head, but it is only fair to admit that it is here with me, a big knot in the pit of my stomach. I know that when the turmoil of feeling lost has past, there will always be the glowing ember of accomplishment to keep me warm. It is, of course, the most obvious emotion, the easiest to describe, and perhaps the easiest for you, the reader, to understand.

But what about the others? Regret is a constant whisper, but when exposed to the light of my scrutiny, it shrivels into an imaginary concern.

Nostalgia is certainly a key player in this melodrama of mixed emotions, fueling hours of escape from the hum-drum, and I am confident that it will remain so. Nor is this a new discovery: many times during the way I have let my imagination transport me into solitary confinement, bearded and in the fetal position, reciting the names of towns where I slept in chronological order, forwards and backwards, with an image or memory to accompany each name. I am positive that I will thus be able to avoid insanity should I ever need to go to my "happy place." It is no coincidence that my favorite word in the world (is it even possible to have a favorite word? Yes.) is saudades, Portuguese for nostalgia, though with much greater depth of meaning.

Humility deserves mention, as I come to grips with my immaturity, naivete, lack of knowledge and of grit. There are always the examples o those who did it better or were more adventures, who lived on one euro a day, cooking roadkill in a tin paint can. No matter how proud I am of my accomplishment, I will always be haunted by further, faster, stronger, cheaper, smarter, and so on. And you know, I am grateful for that, because humility is the key to greatness, and I will forever walk that path, hoping never to reach it.

And I know I play this tune ad nauseum, that I really need a new hero, but my mind always goes to Beethoven. He knows what it's like to reach it (op. 111), what it's like to fail (op. 13), what it's like to suffer in the midst of heroic greatness (op. 73, II), even what it's like to stand on the mountains looking down at Joy incarnate (op. 125, III), and knowing within the depths of his soul where that Joy comes from (op. 125, IV). Not only does he know, but he gives us the gift of sharing it in the most profound and heartbreakingly, astonishingly beautiful way.

Which brings me to my next emotion, the most important one of all, never the first one to pop out, but like hope flying out last of Pandora's box, the one that stays with me. I refer to gratitude. I could go on for pages and pages enumerating and categorizing all the reasons to be grateful, but for once I will keep it to myself. Anyhow, looking back over the posts from these last six months will bring to light all the times I have been thankful, and for what reasons.

So what did I set out to achieve? A good friend, concerned that my decision to walk was based on an unhealthy desire to escape my then current life situation (and maybe it was, in part), asked me just what it was I hoped to find at the end of 1780 miles. I did not know at the time, and I do not know now just why I set off on this little stroll, but I do know that somewhere along the road I found God. And not the "I see the light, hallelujah," fall off the horse, join a monastery kind of finding God. No, it's much more simple than that.

The God I found is about love, gratitude, and providence. Love for all of you, for myself, for every moment of my precious life, and for every single detail that makes the whole so full of wonder and joy. Gratitude for the reasons I did not go into above, but which are sprinkled throughout the account of my travels. And providence, sweet sweet providence, the walker's best friend, the force that keeps us safe from harm, that always shows us the way forward, that gives us food and shelter and Love, and that rewards us with the clarity of vision that in turn allows us to be grateful.

Now, don't come knocking down my door with pamphlets about your religion, the best one, because I don't want to hear it. I'm not signing up anywhere, and I don't plan on preaching any more than I already have. If you believe in God, be happy that I found God too, and please pray for me to understand better with age and maturity. If you don't, be happy that I'm happy. I'm happy for you, too.

Still, having found God does not make it any less empty, here at the tip, where I stand alone, surrounded by a restless, dusk-gray sea. And yet, I find myself snuggling closer and closer to that emptiness, knowing that it too shall pass, replaced with one dominant emotion after another, for the rest of my life. So is that the key to true happiness, accepting the transitory nature of our mind-state, and learning to live with uncertainty? I don't know. All I can do is wait patiently for the answers to come with Time.