Redemption Ride Prep

July 20, 2023 Journal Entry:

Redemption Ride 2023 is just around the corner.

In three days, I’ll be hitting the road solo to reclaim some independence and confidence, and hopefully reacclimate and recalibrate with a healthier, more harmonious voice within my soul.

My navigation was thrown off the past 3 years. Dealing with COVID, job loss, selling the farm, and saying goodbye to cherished family, friends, and beloved pets was a challenging and overwhelming journey.

Nevertheless, we made the move to Florida.

It made perfect sense at the time. We were in pursuit of “a better life,” one more attuned to changes thrust upon us. To say it did not go well is an understatement.  

In just months, we experienced strained relationships, adjustments to unfamiliar, uncomfortable environments, and then a riding accident. An accident so bad it laid me up for months. How I see, feel, and perceive life from every side has changed in under a year.

So, here I go. Off into the wild blue yonder. Just me, the radio, and the road.

My preparation began with extensive list-making and gathering of necessary items. I pondered what I might encounter for two-plus weeks and how to stay comfortable in the changing environments. It was eye-opening to see what I deemed necessary. I was forced to see myself honestly and objectively. I took note of some interesting revelations about myself. 

The clothes packing went more easily than planned, which was surprising. I thought my thirty-pound weight gain would mean I’d hate everything I put on. Given limited options, I wasn’t sure what I'd feel terrible wearing. That thought was depressing. I had to fight the temptation to shame myself for those thirty pounds.

Being outside our comfort zone is part of traveling. I find it more tolerable to have things that make me feel comfortable, like clothes I bring. There is nothing worse than being away, getting dressed for the day or night, and feeling awful about everything you put on. Having clothes I feel good in tones down negative voices in my head—voices I know will be there anyway. So, I was grateful for the comfy wardrobe I packed.

Then came the anxiety.

Doubts started creeping in the week before leaving. Why am I doing this? Am I crazy? I’ll be all alone on the road, stopping for gas in unfamiliar areas and navigating roads I don’t know.

At night, I’d wrestle with fears of driving in bad weather and the discomforts of sleeping in unfamiliar beds. My back and neck were far from healthy. I’d have to carry all my bags. What if I pulled a muscle? My dogs were going to miss me. Man, I was going to miss them! Why would I do this to them? And what if something bad happens while I’m gone?

The emotional torment spun like a tornado.

Then the self-inflicted beatings revved up.

Why must I be like this?

Why do I even have to take this stupid trip?

Why can’t I be different?

It is exhausting being in my head.

But now here I am—the night before. Ready to head out in the morning.

Right now, I feel excited. I’m as packed and prepared as I can be.

Right now, I can’t wait to hit the road. To feel the wind in my hair. To sing at the top of my lungs. To ponder, take inventory, and reevaluate where life has brought me, and where I want to go from here.

I look forward to spending time alone with my thoughts, crying, laughing, and screaming. It will be like shedding a skin I’ve been in for too long, that I've outgrown. I’m ready to shake off dust and dirt that accumulated over the past few years.

I don’t know if I’ll have major epiphanies or insights. I don’t know if I’ll hear the voice of God or feel closer to Jesus. Will I recognize whispers sent to the purest parts of my spirit? I don’t know if I’ll feel clearer about the steps ahead or get a better idea of the path ahead of me.

However, I will greatly enjoy seeing my old work friend, who was once a significant part of my life years ago.

I’ll be over the moon spending time with my granddaughters. It will be nice to get a hug from my son and see him and his family. Hopefully, we’ll have some laughs and make fun memories together. I love the opportunity to put another plank in the bridge between us.

I’ll cherish time with my “sister” in her new home. (She’s actually my sister-in-law, but she’s too much like a real sister, so we don’t use that term.) I can’t wait to chat, hug, and feel the warmth we share.

I’ll love seeing my two older actual sisters and sharing a trip to visit our elder cousin, who is battling early phases of dementia. I'll hug her and thank her for the support and encouragement she gave when I was six years old and started riding horses. She helped me at a time when my deep passion scared my nervous mom. If it weren’t for her and my sister Jan, I don’t know if that dream would ever have taken root. That dream gave me countless immeasurable gifts of the soul. It sent me soaring into a life I dreamed of as a child.

It will be great to see people I have missed and love and to fill my tank with their companionship, understanding, and love.

The ride back will be another adventure in itself. A dear friend and I will drive south, investigating towns in the Carolinas, with the hope of making a move in the next year or so.

This trip feels necessary. I find myself living in a place I thought was going to be our “home” for a long period of time, but that now feels foreboding. Sadly, things went so sour that I feel like a captive—a caged animal, a lost soul stuck in a foreign land—unendingly uncomfortable and awkward.

Change is hard. And, when you put considerable effort into a change that goes badly, it’s demoralizing.

Especially as you get older, you expect to be wiser and for things to get easier. When they backfire in your face, it’s perplexing.

So, things backfired. Now what? Another change? Ugg. Who wants to go through all THAT again? Who wants all that hard work again? All that uprooting and uncertainty again?

Well, it’s that, or accept the discomfort of where I am.

No thanks.

I can’t live here with this level of discomfort.

Bring on Redemption Ride 2023.

I’m driving away from the disheartening day-to-day. I'm wiping slates clean, working unfamiliar muscles, reconnecting with myself, and spending time with far-off loved ones. If I’m lucky, I’ll return rejuvenated, renewed, and with a new outlook. Hopefully, I'll have stumbled upon someplace that, in the future, we can happily call home.

Redemption Ride will hopefully uproot “dis-eased” roots and find a new place to plant healthy ones.