Travel DNA

 Parking lot of Little Five Points.

Parking lot of Little Five Points.

Our trip to Atlanta was glorious. For so many years of sobriety I haven't really believed it possible to travel without smoking, drinking or kissing random strangers on public transportation. But 1 plane ride, 1 Ferris wheel, 1 trolley, 5 skate parks, 1 art museum, 1 Waffle House Museum, 1 aquarium, 2 old and wonderful friends, dozens of street artists & street musicians, 1 dream poet with a typewriter under a bridge who wrote me a poem about nightmares and 1 ten hour car ride with 4 kids proved otherwise. 

I felt the traveling flame reignite and right now I am trying to keep it lit like when I cupped my hands around a match on windy streets of New York City desperate for a cigarette. 

 Musician outside of the High Museum. He was AMAZING.

Musician outside of the High Museum. He was AMAZING.

 The Dream Poet and a mural/sculpture at and around the Beltline, ATL.

The Dream Poet and a mural/sculpture at and around the Beltline, ATL.

The morning after leading a Life in 10 Minutes workshop in the living room of my friend's niece in a storybook cottage in Cabbage Town, Atlanta with a handful of her friends from around the city, I wrote in my journal, I want to do a living room tour of the USA. Nowhere do I feel such an immediate connection, do we unzip our skin and deep dive so far beneath the surface so fast as in a writing workshop where everyone lays themselves bare on the page 10 minutes at a time. My mom traveled all over the country selling her art with me. It's like there's a blueprint stamped into my DNA.

This idea makes my heart pound and my cheeks pink like a crush, like a balloon released with a message to the sky or a bottle in the sea with no way of knowing where it might land. But getting on the road and then coming back home as an adult, as a whole and sober person, as a mother and a wife and writer presented that part of me to me.

 Crazy ball sculpture exhibit at the High Museum of Art.

Crazy ball sculpture exhibit at the High Museum of Art.

Before we went to Atlanta I spent 3 days in a yurt on a mountain top with 5 other women. I slept, read, ate and wandered through the tangled, glorious chaos of nature when I wanted to. Although I create plenty of tangled chaos myself, in the woods is the only place I truly love it, where it feels just right, where I am able to find order in no discernible order at all. The roosters crowed around the clock and the goats hollered like angry old men and I reclaimed my place in the universe, recalibrating, resetting again.

 The yurt. Oh, the yurt!

The yurt. Oh, the yurt!

 

 

Valley HaggardComment