The question I ask myself is whether I’m running to, running from, or just enjoying the sensation of running. Perhaps it’s all three.
Last week I vacationed in Yosemite with family. It was our tri-annual reunion. I’m told most families celebrate reunions by gathering for a barbecue or a long weekend. My mother’s family gathers once every three years for a whole week. There are nearly fifty of us now, and most of us attend. We hike, we cook, we swim, we play games and cards and drink in large quantities. We enjoy each other and celebrate each others’ lives. We reconnect in a way that reminds us of who we are and how much we mean to each other.
At the end of the week we whittle down location choices to three or four contenders for our next gathering place, and the business of planning a get together for a group this large begins again.
I haven’t attended in years. My sons’ father was the opposite of my family – a city dweller uncomfortable in the outdoors. We attended one of my reunions when the boys were small. He was a disaster and declared he’d never go again, and to keep the peace, I didn’t either. But now, that time is over and I’m back, rediscovering my tribe, rebuilding my connections.
The story? I am writing, but in a furtive way. I grab moments between the travels and adventures of my life, stealing hours to bring Full Circle to its conclusion. It’s coming…