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Bowman Odyssey

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Homesick at Home

I'm drinking out of a coffee mug that used to be mine but I'm not in my kitchen.  A cooler with our last name on it is sitting out in the hall.  One of my favorite floral blouses is in the laundry basket.  It's like that moment that you first wake from a vivid dream and can't tell where you are.  But you know something isn't quite right.  It's like the sinking feeling of dejavu.

Before Zach and I left with our daughter to travel the US for a year, we sold our house in a hurry.  To say it was chaotic was an understatement.  Zach would have gladly set our belongings ablaze in the front lawn to save the hassle of dealing with them.  But we opted for peddling them on our friends and family any chance we got.  Our former belongings are scattered across East Tennessee and on up to Virginia.  I don't miss them.  Each time we gave away another thing I thought it would be so hard.  Once gone however, it was like it was never there.  They were just things after all.

Now as I sit at our friends house, having just crossed the US in a rush to tow their truck home, those things are reminders.  Reminders of the home we renovated.  The home that we brought our daughter back from the hospital to.  The house that we won't be returning to.  

Coming back made it just feel like a long vacation.  That we should walk through our front door and find our house just as we left it.  That we'll sigh and clean and cook and put our daughter to sleep in her crib and crawl into our bed to whisper to each other about the adventures we've had.

It's a strange feeling to yearn for a place that is so close and yet no longer what it was.  Not for us.  I guess that is the duality of what we are doing.  That I both crave more travel and miss a place.  That I feel both lost and more on a path than I have in a long time.  That I both have a home and am homeless.  That I am both homesick and already home. 

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Sandstorms

It's strange to see something you've never seen before.  Most of us have been around long enough that we have experienced a lot of this planet.  Sure, there are many places I have never been before.  Something I'm slowly but surely rectifying.  But it is rare for me to think, "Huh, I've NEVER seen this." 

About a week ago I experienced my first full blown sandstorm.  We're talking zero visibility, lightening, thunder, and high winds.  It was awe inspiring and beautiful and terrible all at once.  

It safe to say that I love moody scenery.  I love the drama and the unusual nature of it.  I love fog.  How it envelopes you.  Consumes you.  This had the same mystery to it but was harsher.  The sand danced and shifted until you were unsure if it would come in blankets or waves.  Or would it be completely gone in half a mile.  There was also just a sheer force to it.  While fog creeps, sand dares you to come out and face it. 

I was itching to have a model with me.  Some woman in a long flowing dress.  Some brave soul to go out and be daring and play.  However, we were just rolling through.  It's on my shot list though and I feel privileged to be able to mark something off my list that I hadn't ever seen or experienced before.

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Facing Your Fears

I am not a great lover of heights.  I don't mind them but I don't go out of my way to find them.  Just like snakes.  So when Zach's cousin said she wanted to take us rock climbing I was a little skeptical.  And by skeptical I mean nauseous. (For more on our visit to Los Alamos check out here!)

I am a great believer in facing you fears.  I don't like for fear to have control over me.  Period.  I don't like for it to dictate what I do or don't do.  Honestly, I was a feeling a little ashamed at how nervous I was about doing this.  I've been sky diving!  I've jumped off bridges!  Why would climbing a rock freak me out?  When I got down deep to it is was because after having a baby I feel like I have lost part of my athletic self--my daredevil self.  I was worried I physically would embarrass myself.  I was worried that I was being a bad mother by taking a risk.  Worry is just fear whispering to you. 

Lucky for me Zach's cousin Christie is a badass.  She's a mother of five, survivor, and rock climbing instructor.  If she could do it, I had to at least try it.  And I am so glad I did.

The truth is that by the end of the day Zach and I both had fallen a little in love with rock climbing.  For him, I believe it was figuring out the puzzle of where to go next, keeping your mind focused, and being outside.  For me it was facing that fear each moment, being in such beauty, and trusting yourself to make it happen. 

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In my experience it always pays off to face your fears.  Whether that is fear of change, fear of loss, fear of heights, snakes, spiders, infestations, whales, or the fear of being alone.  We all have one that makes a nest inside our heart and minds.  Take that fear out, set it on fire, and go live.

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On Leaving

"You really were made to do this," my Mom laughs as we sit on our old sunken couch.  She's in for a couple days to help babysit as I try to shove the parts of our lives we want to hold on to into plastic bins.  Zach is another world away.  Taking in the vast West and battling alternators on lonely roads.  

She and I were reminiscing about all our family camping trips.  In the summer we would pile in our van and head for the mountains.  Windows down and the cool mountain air catching our voices as we would sing.  Yup, we were that family.  We joke that our family is cursed.  We never had a family camping trip that didn't get rained on.  And by rain I mean drought breaking, record making monsoons.  Some of my earliest memories are splashing around in puddles with my barbie in hand.  My parents stubborn determination to make the most of each trip kept us there.  We didn't pack up and go home.  We made the most of it.  Always.

 
I come from a heritage of campers and adventurers.  My Mom and Dad both got it from their parents; boy scouts, girls scouts, troop leaders, back packing, and long road trips to Alaska.  It's deep down in me.  A longing.  

All the same giving up roots is hard.  After years of being a Pastors kid and moving, I never expected to stay in one place very long.  But after eight years, Knoxville has made an impression on me.  It's been a place of firsts.  First house we owned, first place as a married couple, first renovation, and first child.  Those things are hard to let go of, but it's the little things that really sink their hooks into you.  The smell of our front door, the creak in the hardwood floors, the way the morning light streams into our daughters bedroom, the cool shade in the garage in the afternoon.  Knowing where I'm going when there is a year of getting lost ahead.  


People are always the hardest though.  We have been fortunate to have a village of family and friends in Knoxville that support and help us on a daily basis.  They believe in us.  And it's their faith that makes leaving, and the knot in my throat when I think about leaving them, easier.  After years of moving I know that people like that in your life, stay in your life.  Your life is more beautiful because of them.  I've always thought that in some ways I have been lucky to move throughout my life.  Along the way I have met amazing people and gathered them close to me.  I take them with me to the next place and they embolden me.  


Leaving is hard.  That's the simple truth.  The longing inside of me gives me confidence that this is right for us.  That I have been waiting for a trip like this.  That maybe I was even made for it.  To continue to pass on that heritage to our daughter.  To show her how to make the most of it.  Always.
    

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