Going Home. I'm So Blessed.

I knew I needed a road trip. The kind that requires a long day of monotonous driving and loud music—the kind that gives your mind enough space to process everything that’s happened in the last month.

This morning I Ubered to the airport to pick up my rental car. A brand-new Mitsubishi with only 130 miles on it and just one prior rental. It still had a temporary paper tag on the back, yet somehow was already coated in salt and dirt.

Maps sent me onto a small country road—129/411—winding through dainty railroad towns all the way south toward the north Atlanta suburbs. Small-town America. So many curious sights, each eliciting the tilt of my head and the intensity of my eyeballs as my head turned to not lose contact. Wow. Really? Is that for real? I imagined staying in one of these towns for a few weeks, studying it quietly, taking notes, and writing a novel inspired by the town and its characters.

I passed roughly ninety-nine Dollar General stores. I briefly wondered if I should buy stock.

Then a pasture full of sheep—a full-on sheep farm was on my left. For a moment, I felt like I was back in New Zealand. The dormant deciduous trees quickly snapped me back to reality.

My sister Donna had planned to come up to Knoxville last weekend to celebrate Edison’s birthday and see everyone, but the snowstorm ruined those plans. Since I was driving right past her place in the north Atlanta suburbs, we decided to meet at Chipotle for a quick lunch.

When I arrived, Donna already had the food ordered and on the table. We sat there munching on our Chipotle bowls, catching up on everything.

Outside by our cars, Donna handed me a belated birthday gift—a beautiful bag filled with snacks and water for the road trip. On the bag it read:
“N° 55 Vintage 1971 Aged to Perfection.”

And then she pulled out what might be the funniest gift I’ve ever received.

About two weeks ago, right here on this blog, I mentioned that I’m basically the poster child for colonics. 🤣 Apparently, that struck a chord. They decided to make it official—and actually put me on a poster. 😂

I have not laughed that hard in a very long time. I love it. Thank you, Donna and family. You put so much time and thought into this silliness, that could not be more perfect.

I usually listen to a lot of dance music and remixes, mixed with some alternative, rock, and a little country. Every once in a while, something more classical or reflective sneaks in.

Max Richter’s On the Nature of Daylight (orchestral version) came on just after I escaped Atlanta traffic unscathed.

Somewhere in the middle of the piece, a wave of immense gratitude washed over me—stronger than I’ve ever felt before.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” I said out loud to the sky.

Tears welled up.

“I am blessed. I AM blessed. I am BLESSED.”

Gratitude filled and overflowed my heart for everything and everyone in my life, for the incredible experiences I’ve had over the last month, for the travels, and for everything I’ve welcomed into my life.

And I felt gratitude for what’s still coming, already forming, already on its way.

I played the song again just to hold the moment a little longer.

I glanced at my nails. They’re pretty hideous. They reminded me that the mountains are growing. 😅

After refueling, I crossed the Florida-Georgia line back into my home state. I-75 south near Gainesville was completely shut down due to a crash. In total darkness, Maps rerouted me off the interstate at Alachua and then back on near Micanopy. When I merged back onto I-75—what felt like thirty minutes later—there were still no cars coming south on the interstate. None.

The momentum of the last month, the excitement of coming home tomorrow, the immediate plans I’ve made, and the future pulling me forward carried me through the rest of the twelve-hour drive. No coffee needed.

Tomorrow holds great things. I'm excited to reunite with friends and family, go house shopping, juice some celery, make my green food, blueberry and beet root smoothie, grow some sprouts in a jar, cold plunge in the ocean, find a gym and a trainer to strengthen my back, move to a new home, transition to new phases, write to my little heart's desire, and forge new paths.

I used to think age 44 was my midlife. Maybe it’s 55 instead. It’s possible. And no matter how many years I have left, I’m committed to making them the best years of my life.Read more