Circleville, WV (Land of the Shawnee)

The meandering roads lead me deep into the Appalachian forest. I have never seen territory quite like this–mountainous, with very steep banksides, but also dense woods.  Navigating the thin dirt road as I tow my 20 foot camper feels daunting for a novice at the beginning of his journey. The road is not suited for two vehicles- as captivating as the scenery is, I have to keep a deep focus. Without choice you travel on the passage that exists. The road up to my weekend destination and what I am about to encounter is a lesson and a reflection of life. In my mind, I anticipate a secluded spot to rest my camper for the long weekend. An acceptable prediction given the setting of beautiful wooded land largely absent of dwellings. I also plan to have a strong cell signal as advertised. The perfect spot–tranquility with sense of connection. To land and be surprised at the absence of both was, well, a surprise. Atop the wild mountain, I arrive to six RV campsites stacked on top of each other (only a few feet separating some of the sites). To be this close to others but in the wild feels disorienting. I also learn that the advertised cell signal does not exist. I sit with and attempt to just notice the anxieties that arise. I feel a desire to leave. But, I too realize, this is part of the journey; to notice and appreciate the unexpected. A sensitive soul feels things more intensely. I use this to describe myself. Historically, I have felt so intensely I needed to check out. I would do this via substance or through the natural biological processes of flight, fight, and freeze–freeze has generally been my reaction. For years, I drank to escape. It was perhaps a replacement for my freeze reaction. When a situation becomes unbearable you have to react to survive. I would shut down, play dead, and let the Saber Tooth pass. Or I would reach for my magic potion and take a gulp. The latter is not something I have done in years, as it proved to be a coping mechanism that worked for a very short time and then became devastatingly destructive. In the time that followed, I learned to notice how I was numbing myself–in even minor mishaps like the one I alllude to today. Through my growth–though always a challenge, now, I can sit and just be. Everything I feel is normal and fine–in fact, feeling anxiety and discomfort is not just okay, it is healthy. I have learned the key is to honor instinct after rational reflection (unless, of course, you are in imminent danger. This day I pause, take the night, and make my decision in the morning.

The morning awakens me with a deluge of rain. The wildness of this region seems even fiercer with the backdrop of pouring rain. I sit with my morning coffee, reflect, and decide with assurance that it is time to move South. I strap down all my items inside the camper and then go through the process of hitching and securing my rig. I liken myself to a turtle these days. I crawl across the country with my home on my back. Turtles have been reflecting and reacting slowly longer than most living things on this planet. I believe a long-survived species is a testament to their wisdom. I hope to practice the wisdom of the turtle as I trudge forth. Anxieties of the road are to be expected, as part of life, and should be revered as much as they are feared.