where the writers are
Planning the Trip

It's two weeks, today.  Why did I decide to go? Why did I agree to go?

Interruptions.  Family. Celebration.

Weariness.

My sister is looking forward to seeing me, she writes, exclamation points. My energy for this is displaced.  I'll find the right energy.  Maybe it's on the plane. I'll have dinner with her Friday.

My hotel has been selected. Is it too far from Dad's house? Why would I want to be closer? Hotel options are limited.  I wrestle, wrestle, wrestle. My sister is in one hotel and would probably be happier if I were in the same hotel but I need some space.

Space, yes.  Dad has given me space.  He's the king of granting space, calling once this year and leaving a message on my birthday, "We should try to be closer." Try, Dad, or talk about it? 

The stream runs through me, emotions and logic, choices and regret, a woolly stream with uncertain banks, the relationship with Dad, the relationship with self, the relationship with life. 

Words purged, the stream empties into the deeper pool of acceptance, where the waters are still and calm, reflecting the sky and the trees, a serene landscape without people.

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