My bride most certainly would agree with this description of myself: I tend to make all-too-detailed travel plans, rather than just sorta going with the flow.
I am planning an extended road trip out west, needing to get away for a while to process the loss I have suffered with Kathy Anne’s passing a month ago from cancer.
I now have every stop on my way out set up. I know the dates I plan to be at each location. I have made lodging arrangements along the way; I will be staying at RV park cabins, cheap motels and, of course, with family members who have offered to give Toby the Puppy and me a place to sleep.
Furthermore, I even have mapped out tentative plans for my return to North Texas, which at this moment appears to be one month after my departure for the Pacific Ocean.
I have put some friends on alert that I’ll be visiting them in West Texas. I have a family member who will put us up for a couple of nights in the Hill Country.
Then I will drive my pickup to my driveway in Princeton. I will unpack it. Sit down on the couch, take a deep breath … and then think about where and when I want to go next.
I am thinking about the Atlantic Ocean.