I miss my wife every single day.
In the mornings, after I wake up, walk the dog and brush my teeth I miss hearing her sleep while I tiptoed around the house trying not to wake her.
When I pause to catch my breath during exercising I think of her and cannot believe she’s gone.
In the quiet moments throughout the day I ask her if she thinks I’m crazy for doing what I’m doing. I’ll tell her I love her. I’ll tell her how much I miss her and that I wish she was here.
Most of the time, when I’m alone and think of her, I cry.
When I talk about her to others, I rarely cry.
Neighbors, friends and strangers offer condolences. They tell me they can’t imagine the pain.
Then they quickly switch the subject to my upcoming travels and say, “What an adventure…how excited you must be!”
Or I redirect the conversation to the topic of the moment – whatever that happenned to be that brought us together.
They are relieved that we’ve switched the subject and that my pain is under control.
It’s still there for me, I just stuff the feeling down to deal with later.
I am not thinking about adventure.
I am getting rid of everything I own and going to live on the road because I don’t know what else to do.
I am searching for meaning, purpose and direction in my life.
Without my wife, the life I used to live has none.
I don’t care about owning a house. So I’ve sold it.
I wanted to retire early so I could spend time with her. But she’s dead.
Our stuff has become painful reminders of a life together that is over.
I could care less what others think about my plans. Most of the time, I think I’m crazy for doing this.
I am thinking about peace, challenges, solitude and community.
I hope to find peace in nature. Quiet. Darkness. Silence. Animals.
I am craving challenges to keep me focused on living. Map reading. Being self sustaining. Living without on demand heat, AC, water, electricity, and many modern conveniences.
I want to experience being alone in nature. Afraid. Alert. Frustrated. Joyful. Amazed.
I am already connecting to a different community of people – campers, nomads and others who are rejecting (or temporarily escaping) some parts of mainstream society.
Maybe I’ll find something in me or out there. Maybe I won’t. Really it doesn’t even matter.
It’s just something to do. At times, it feels like it’s something I have to do.
I wish my wife was here with me.
If she was, this would be an adventure. We would laugh, love and argue. We would talk all day about everything. She would hold my head in her lap and scratch it with her magical fingernails. I would wrap my arms around her and she’d melt into my chest. She’d light up my world and lift my spirits just by flashing her big toothy smile at me. Our lives would be full of color, emotion and excitement.
We would plan visits to beautiful sites. We would eat together. We would figure out routines that worked. We would be a team, like we always were.
Instead, in 21 days I will hitch up my trailer and drive off alone into a different life.
My weeks of planning, preparation and downsizing are nearing the end. I am as ready as I’ll ever be to get going.
I don’t know where this will lead. For the first time in my life, I don’t care either.
Perhaps that will change in time.