Why Fidgety Pilgrim?

When the road ends, and the goal is gained, the pilgrim finds that he has traveled only from himself to himself.   - Sri Sathya Sai Baba

   When I finally decided to quit dallying and launch this blog, I gave careful consideration to what the blog would be about.  Then I scoured the dictionary and thesaurus for the right descriptive words.  Very deliberately, I chose 'Fidgety Pilgrim' from the list of finalists.

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   The separate, often disparate, elements that make me who I am are completely commingled.  They are woven together like the shadows of trees that splash across my favorite trail through the forest, or like the colorful threads that make up a Navajo rug.  When I try to isolate one strand - say, my need for travel, the 47 bits twined around it spring loose.  This often makes it difficult for me explain myself succinctly to others.

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I am fidgety because I am a pilgrim.  
To me, pilgrims are seekers, relentlessly questing after what is most meaningful to them.
Therefore, I stay in motion.  
Seeking.
I seek to assuage my curious nature.  
I seek answers to many, many questions.  
I seek adventure.  
I seek healing.  
I seek peace, the deep inner kind.  
I seek spiritual knowledge within and beyond the bounds of organized religions.

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   Throughout my life, my fidgety nature has strolled hand in hand with the desire to embrace this life, to search this beautiful world and find where I fit into it.  When I go anywhere, whether through cornfields, beside oceans, along river gorges, or over mountain passes, all that I see is sacred and amazing.  I move from place to place because I can't - won't - rest until I have seen it all, experienced it firsthand, and found the place that suits me best.

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   Until a few years ago, I equated contentment with boredom, and being rooted in one place with complacency.  Having never lived anywhere long enough to feel a true part of a community, the idea of living in a place where people knew me by name when I walked down the street made me twitch.  I was terrified that staying in one place would make me jaded, perhaps even cause me to lose my sense of wonder.
   Each time I plotted another move, I held in my head an image of the person I would become once the move was complete.  If I worked harder (or not as hard), made more money (or had better quality of life outside of work), exercised more, dressed better, had more friends, found that ideal relationship...then I'd be happy, and stay put for a while.
   ...And six months later there I'd be.  Restless again, repeating the same patterns, living the same life in different surroundings.  Still just as fidgety as ever.  Still waiting for that big spark of something - anything - to come along, to ignite my imagination and propel me toward the next great thing.

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   It's summer of 2004.  I have lived in Arizona for two years.  I've spent a great deal of my time here alternately second-guessing my decision to leave Chicago, and wondering whether I should go back to Chicago.  In other words, letting what I've chosen to leave behind put a damper on my enjoyment of what is right in front of me.
   I'm resuming my regularly scheduled life - and working a new job - after spending the spring in Illinois, helping my Mom care for my Dad.  
   Now it's the second or third week of August.  I am driving home from work.  The top is down on my Jeep.  It is hot out, in the high 90s, but there are brief pockets of delicious coolness whenever I pass into shade.  Monsoon season is winding down; an earlier shower has left a smattering of clouds hanging over the egdes of the Verde Valley.  The sun feels so fine against my skin.
   I crest a hill from which I can see for miles around.  At a glance I recognize the red rock formations of Sedona, Cocks Comb Butte, Doe Mesa, Bear Mountain, Casner Mountain, Black Mountain, House Mountain, Mingus...  
   For a moment I am quietly pleased.  It is the first time in my life I've lived in a place where I can name nearly every geographic feature I see.  
   On impulse, I pull off the highway and follow a primitive ranch road up through juniper and pinon trees to the top of a neighboring hill.  I stop the truck and cut the engine.  Climb up on the roll bar to get the full panoramic view.
   I sit there for a while, gazing at the natural spectacle surrounding me.  
   I reflect on the months that have passed since my Dad's death.  I think about how much I miss his smile, his perspective.  
   I think about my Mom, adjusting to life alone after nearly forty-three years of marriage.
   I think about how happy I am to be settling back into a routine with the boyfriend, the dogs, the cat.
   That's when it strikes me, with the full force of the desert sun:  In that moment, I am content.  
   The sensation is foreign, but I like it.  
   I like our weird little guest-house apartment, like our crazy landlady, like my job and the people I work with, like getting up before dawn to the sound of coyotes howling in the ravine, like driving under the brilliant stars to brew coffee for my customers - most of whom I like a lot, like driving home through the early afternoon heat, like napping with the pets or lounging by the pool till the boyfriend comes home from his job.   
   For a brief moment, it feels as if I've found everything I've been seeking.  


   Within a month, I am offered my old job in Chicago.  

House Mountain

Black Mountain

Sedona's Red Rock Wilderness.  Doe Mesa flat, low, and red on the left