Irony

I’ve now traveled more than 13,000 miles—not including two side trips by plane. That’s a lot of movement in six months.

The irony isn’t lost on me. As quite a few have suggested, if I really want to experience God (or kindle any profound insight), I would be much better off sitting still!

Thomas Werge, a professor at Notre Dame, put it best during a lecture in an American literature course I took 36 years ago. “Truth,” he observed, “comes in moments of patience, waiting, passivity.”

Of course, I am fairly still while driving. And the majority of my time behind the wheel is spent in silence. Driving has always had a calming effect—so long as I’m able to avoid big cities during rush hour. And I’ve been treated to some lovely scenery—most recently the autumn foliage along Highway 20 through New York and Massachusetts, and a number of rural roads on Cape Cod (which I traveled by scooter).

But there are times I’ve just longed to stop. I spent three June days in Pismo Beach, California for just that reason. There wasn’t anything I particularly wanted to see or do there. I just needed to be in one place for a while.

The last few weeks have been delightfully tranquil due to the conspicuous absence of motion. I stayed five nights in Boston, three nights on the Cape, and three more in Scarborough, Maine—with a night in Middleboro, Massachusetts sandwiched in—all on a single tank of gas. The next few weeks promise to be similarly relaxed, with lengthier stops set for Salisbury, Vermont; Hartford, Connecticut; Sturbridge, Massachusetts; West Point, New York, and Washington, DC. I must confess, the slowdown is prompted in part by the surprise discovery that most New England campgrounds close on Columbus Day! Fewer options compel longer stays. But I’m not complaining. Perhaps it’s divine intervention!

Given my extroverted nature, I’m surprised by how much I’m savoring the solitude. While I continue to gravitate to people in even the most spectacular natural settings, I likewise relish the peace and quiet of my humble rolling abode (which hasn’t required any repairs the last 2,000 miles—keeping my fingers crossed). Albeit temporary, I welcome the grounding—which is a function of both time and intention.

“The spiritual quest,” writes Anthony DeMello, “is a journey without distance. You travel from where you are right now to where you have always been. From ignorance to recognition, for all you do is see for the first time what you have always been looking at. Who ever heard of a path that brings you to yourself or a method that makes you what you have always been? Spirituality, after all, is only a matter of becoming what you really are.”

Whatever I’m becoming, I’m certainly enjoying the ride.

(Scarborough, Maine)