Racing to Meet the MV Explorer

Noah is in San Diego.  Whoo hoo!

He got here in a silver rented Ford SUV packed to the vinyl ceiling with six or seven huge canvas duffels, each of which was easily twice as heavy as any suitcase the family has ever packed.  The issue is consumables: think of everything you need for four months of regular living: how much shampoo you go through, how many snacks will see you through, what you’d need in the way of toys and activities to minimally keep you engaged and learning for four months if you’re four years old.  How many bags would that take, and how big would they be?  Poor guy, Noah had a little nook in the backseat where his car seat squeezed in.

Noah’s journey was epically beautiful.  Central California this year, following the big rains of December, is brilliantly green, and the light was clear in the pale blue winter sky.  We made a brief farewell stop at Nannie’s house so Noah could say a loving, laughter-filled goodbye to her and his Uncle Raj and his Aunt JinJin.  Then we stopped the first night in San Luis Obispo and then, yesterday, powered through LA to arrive at our hotel around 8 pm.  I loathe driving on sclerotic LA freeways, but by some miracle (and there have been so many miracles since I signed on to Semester at Sea back in September) we found exactly the right time to make the drive, so here’s Noah’s first traveler’s tip: Sunday afternoon and evening—that’s when to do the 405.  To me, though, even when the cars cruise, the drive still seems endless.  I always drop into a funk of ennui blasting past suburb after identical suburb.

A yummy breakfast in BelloMundo Cafe in San Luis Obispo

Yum! 

Speaking of ennui, here’s a secret: I (Scott) am a lousy traveler.  Ask Susan, poor thing.  When we were in France and Spain in 2009, Susan met (instead of the saintly, fun, loving guy she thought she’d married) an anxious dervish, far too attached to Seeing Everything, completely unable to listen to his inner state (like when it might be nice to sit down and have a snack), and spectacularly pathetic at the arts of Being There, Chillaxation, and Letting Go and Letting Be.  I do not chill very well.  In fact, I opposite-chill.  I’d say that I burn up under stress and lack of control, but it doesn’t feel warm, especially to my beloved travel companions.  As I said, ask Susan.

 On the beach in Santa Barbara

The process of preparing to embark upon Semester at Sea has proven to me that I have not improved in these areas one little bit.  Far from excited (I can hardly even conceptualize or imagine the trip as a whole, being on the boat, seeing amazing ports of call), I am anxious, worried, suffering terribly from lack of sleep and from heavy overwhelm.  I have a partner who is very much not these things; she has the nerve to ask questions like, “what’s the rush?  How is your worrying going to get us there any faster?”  I mean seriously: who asks these kinds of questions?

I have so many voices in my life telling me that it’s time—past time—to learn the wisdom of being in the moment.  I know that I have the skill.  In yoga, in painting, in playing with Noah, I easily find myself and find the world again.  It’s very clear that I can’t keep living the way I’ve been living: reacting, taking things too personally, doubting myself, clinging to vague outcomes all the more powerful for their vagueness.  This adventure will be a gift to me personally to the extent that it helps me move along this path toward caring for myself, accepting the adventure that comes, and—simply—having my life.  Thus will I be tolerable to myself and tolerable to my loved ones—and paradoxically so much better at caring for all those under my care, professionally and personally.

It’s often said that life is a journey.  OK, well, what if it’s a sea voyage?  If so, our ship is in.