Except for a quick loop through Utah, Colorado and northern New Mexico when I first finished treatment, I’ve spent the year essentially along the I-10 corridor, between Los Angeles and southwest New Mexico. That’s only a fraction of my usual annual wandering.
With travel and camping restrictions starting to ease, I began making plans again. Then a strange thing happened.
A tiny part of me started dreading returning to my former nomadic ways. It said, “Ugh, the logistics of life on the road. Charting courses, finding dispersed camping at the places you want to visit, being at the mercy of weather, and all that. And (whine) where is it even allowed these days with the ever-changing pandemic restrictions? That’ll require more research and vigilance. We’re fine here at Lou’s. We’re safe, we’re legal, and we have company. And water and electricity.”
But I realized it was just my lazy side not wanting to get up off the figurative and literal sofa and go figuratively and literally outside. Staying put was easy.
But the majority self—the one with the veto—replied, “Look, you sad little man, we didn’t go through cancer treatment so we could sit on our ass, even though it’s a significantly small one. We’re going. We just need to figure out a few things.”
“Not until after the new maps we ordered arrive.”
“Right, not until then.”