(Source: Dylan Bailey Photography
Three months ago almost to the day, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity raced over Nashville traveling at 2,288 miles per hour. It was a solar eclipse - the first one visible from the contiguous United States in 38 years. I stood in the driveway with several of my neighbors - some I knew, some I did not - and watched as the middle of the day gradually became as dark as twilight. Shadow bands rippled across the concrete pavement as the streetlights around the cul-de-sac flickered on one by one. Overhead, flocks of birds flew in formation toward their usual roosting sites, probably with more than a little concern over why their daily routine had been abruptly cut short (birds have routines, right?).
I stood there in awe along with the rest of my neighbors but, at the same time, I was distracted. Two weeks previously, over the span of four days, a seemingly harmless conversation with my girlfriend had unexpectedly (or expectedly, perhaps in retrospect) escalated into the ending of an almost two-year relationship. By the time those four days were over, my house was suddenly very empty - in more ways than one.
People traveled from all over the country to watch that eclipse; Nashville alone saw a tourism boom of over a million people. So as I stood there in the driveway, with an extra pair of eclipse glasses I would no longer need, I watched and wondered about those million-plus people - where they had come from and what that moment meant to them. How many hundreds or thousands of miles had some of these people traveled, knowing they may never again get a chance to see such a spectacle?
...and it got me thinking: Maybe I need something like that.
For reasons that are long, complicated and not keeping with the snarky-yet-optimistic tone of this blog, I won't go into the details of why but several months earlier, I had given notice to my boss that I would be leaving my job in late autumn - specifically, November 22. You could say that it was part of a life plan that didn't quite go as planned.
Suddenly, I was faced with a decision: I have this date already set but since the previous plan is no more, what do I want to do? Do I tell my boss "Nevermind, false alarm" and settle back into my complacent Nashville life? Or, do I take a chance and try something different? Why don't I use this opportunity to take my own once-in-a-lifetime "eclipse road trip," so to speak?
After consulting with my head, my heart and my gut, they all agreed: it was time to hit the road again.
When I was eighteen, I took a solo road trip from my hometown in Douglasville, Georgia to the Grand Canyon. I don't remember the exact reasoning behind it now - typical rebellious teenager shit, probably - but I knew, I absolutely knew (in that way only a teenager can know) that I had to do this in order to prove myself. I'm not even sure now who I was proving myself to but that trip seemed to do the trick. My ever-patient mother gifted me $2,000 (no small sum for a retired single parent on a fixed-income) and gave me her blessing. So, during spring break of my senior year, while my fellow classmates were down in Cancun, Jacksonville, Myrtle Beach, etc. getting wasted, I was pushing my '96 Ford Taurus to it's absolute limit by driving 4,000 miles across the continental US over the course of two weeks. As you can imagine, shenanigans ensued.
Pictured: Shenanigans
(Source: The author's own)
The occasional mishap notwithstanding, that trip clinched it for me: from then on, whenever I would reach a crossroads in my life, I would turn to the open road for answers (I did this again when I turned twenty-three and a third time in 2012). Though I didn't necessarily know what I was looking for each time when I left, I always seemed to find it on the road. In fact, one of my best life decisions to date came out of that second cross-country road trip: adopting Gabby.
So here I am once again, at a crossroads: Do I want to continue being a landscape architect? Do I want a family like everyone else my age? Is my dog really going to live forever like I keep telling her? I don't yet know the answers to these questions but I'm hoping this trip will provide me with some clarity (actually, I already know that answer to that last one - it's a resounding "yes").
I came across a term one day a few months ago that stuck in my mind: "Saturn's Return." For several weeks I had been sofa-bound, forced to elevate and ice a recently broken hand. As a result, I was spending much of my free time binge-watching the television show Parks and Rec. During one particular episode, April (played by Aubrey Plaza) is having an existential career crisis stemming from the personal and professional ennui that comes with being twenty-nine and office-bound.
Aubrey Plaza is my spirit animal.
(Source)
In an attempt to console April, her coworker Donna (played by Retta) explains that her angst is the result of an astrological event known as "Saturn's Return" - basically, it's the time it takes for Saturn to complete a full orbit of the sun and return to the position it was in at the time of your birth; the period of one rotation is approximately 29 years.
What happens when Saturn returns? You lose your damn mind. Or, you discover your true self and live happily ever after - I don't know, astrology isn't an exact science. But, nonsense aside, you have to admit that there's a certain romanticism to the idea that the alignment of the planets is the reason I can't stay focused at work. Sure, let's go with that.
So there you have it - "Saturn's Return: Turning 30 on the Open Road." Since it was during a solar eclipse that this "road trip of self-discovery" idea popped into my head, it only seemed fitting to write about my travels under an astronomical theme.
Now then. Speaking of travels, it's time to get started.
Much like an eclipse, or like the winter season with which I will soon become all too familiar, I know that this period of uneasy twilight I've found myself in over the last year or so will pass in time. Winter is cold and bleak but no less important than the other seasons - it is during this time that the Earth rests and recharges, knowing that soon Spring will come and life will, once again, be as full and robust as ever. Maybe even more so.
As the late Tom Petty once wrote:
"It's time to move on, time to get going
What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
It's time to move on, it's time to get going.”
Thanks for everything Nashville. See you around. ONWARD, NOBLE STEED!
CWO
Pictured: Noble steed
(Source: The author's own)