I’m sitting in my brother’s apartment in Brooklyn this morning, having already been up for hours because of jet lag, and I’m basically just marveling at the ground I’ve covered in the last several weeks.
It’s been almost a month since leaving California, and in that time, I figure I’ve gone something like 11,171 miles.
Eleven thousand, one hundred, seventy-one miles. It seems like a big number.
That’s about what it’s taken to drive across the country; journey up and down the eastern seaboard a bit; fly to Bergen, Norway; train to Oslo; fly back to Bergen; and return to the east coast.
I’m aware that many people travel that distance regularly for work; a girlfriend who crosses the country often comes to mind. Something about these miles for me, though, coming all at once when I’m fairly rooted for most of the year, makes them feel hard-won, and significant.
I have stories from the road, of course, and I’ll share some of those in time. For now, I just wanted, more than anything, to say hello. I didn’t mean to neglect this space, but in the constant shuffle of hotel rooms and friends’ homes and working from the road, I haven’t prioritized it the way I would have liked. It’s a testament to the importance of routine, and discipline, and so – unsurprisingly – I am thinking of those things anew, wondering how to invite them in for the remainder of the summer, when there are still thousands of miles to come.
I’ll joyously walk through my own front door when that day comes. For now, though, for a few weeks more, I might as well soak up as much of this wandering season as I possibly can. On this hot day in Brooklyn – 83 degrees and it’s not even 8:30! – it’s hard to imagine that the summer will draw its last breaths before too long, but of course it will, of course it will.
And when it does, I’ll happily stand in one place, again.