She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain...

It began as lists and maps. Ink on paper like poems, colors amongst contour lines signifying woods and deeper woods. The lists and maps materialized into piles of gear, an oil change, and a renewed driver's license. Then those dematerialized into anxiety and homesickness before even leaving.

Looking ahead, it doesn't feel like any of the itinerary will happen. And when one cannot reckon the wholeness of something, one then aims to reckon the parts of the sum, whether those parts are counted in smiles across a table, closing doors, miles away, states away, or steps up a mountain.

Who knew that all I needed was momentum. The back-and-forth of packing the car. The up and down of doing laundry. Crossing things off the lists. Sitting across from Brian last night at a restaurant and finally talking about it, lavender gin & tonic sweating in my hands. He helped me download maps for when I'm no longer connected. Got my mind off it, too, remarking upon the obnoxious feminist sitting in the booth behind him. She proudly lifted her arms, stroking her arm pit hair. She proudly talked about it. About society. Loudly.

I finally felt better, more ready, today. But I think I'll still count everything in kisses from him, doors closing behind me, and mountains per hour while driving, alone, farther and farther away from everything familiar to me.