Homesick

It’s 5:30 p.m. on Sunday, Dec. 5, 2021, and I’m sick—not with Covid, thankfully. It’s just a cold, most likely the result of a combination of frigid temps up here in the northeast, recent holiday travels and a whole lot of stress from buying and selling a home. But if all goes according to plan, I’ll be back in Texas by the end of the year.

Until then, I’ll do my best to enjoy the Christmas season. It’s the most wonderful time of the year after all, especially nowadays that I get to share the holidays with my wife. She and I plan to spend Christmas in New York City. We’ll check out the tree at Rockefeller Center, listen to caroling at Washington Square, and catch a Knicks basketball game at Madison Square Garden.

The best part of venturing into the city is going with someone who knows her way around. My wife often commutes to Manhattan for work, so she has many years of experience using the NYC train and subway systems. Life will undoubtedly slow down for her once we move to the south, which is why I was hoping she could secure a new position in Texas with the same familiar company she has worked for most of her career.

It turns out Texas offered few options. Actually, only one: a small, rural town south of Fort Worth named Alvarado. I didn’t believe my wife at first when she mentioned it. Why would a perennial Fortune Global 500 company, a luxury brand at that, choose to have a physical presence in a middle-of-nowhere town better known for cattle and tumbleweeds?

If you’ve read any of my past blogs, you know that inexplicable signs and serendipitous encounters seemingly present themselves to me when I’m faced with major life decisions. The last came in 2019 when a pretty French woman, whom I later married, camped beside me at a Texas state park. But never have I experienced a sign so specific like I did on my wedding day this past summer in Montana.

My wife and I were taking our wedding portraits when I noticed one of those directional signs you often see at vacation destinations. You know, the ones with arrows pointing toward obscure places thousands of miles in the distance. Some of the towns I had never even heard of like Fountain Hills, AZ, Hopkins MI, and Buzzards Bay, MA. Down toward the bottom, however, was a red arrow pointing south with the words “Alvarado TX 1321 MI” scrawled in white lettering.

I couldn’t help but do a double take. My wife was equally surprised and even suggested I had something to do with it, which I hadn’t. Some people might see this as little more than a coincidence, but not us. Deep down, we both knew there was more to it than that. After we returned from our wedding, my wife moved into mobility status with her company, and sure enough, an opportunity down in Alvarado came a calling a short time later. 

I recently finished reading Patrick Rothfuss’ The Wise Man’s Fear, a remarkable tale about a character named Kvothe who is forced to overcome tragic circumstances with no family and no real place to call home. Despite his many disadvantages, Kvothe finds his way in life largely because of his willingness to travel. Sometimes, travel is his only option. Other times, he leaves a place on his own accord. Either way, the outcome is usually the same: he learns something about himself and the world around him in the process.

One quote by Rothfuss, in particular, really resonated with me. It said, “If you want to know the truth of who you are, walk until not a person knows your name. Travel is the great leveler, the great teacher, bitter as medicine, crueler than mirror-glass. A long stretch of road will teach you more about yourself than a hundred years of quiet introspection.”

Travel will always be a part of who I am. Most recently, I drove to Boston to watch Game 4 of the American League Championship Series (ALCS) between the Astros and Red Sox at Fenway Park on Oct. 19, and I plan to catch the Army-Navy football game at Giants Stadium next weekend. I have visited every state in the east and hiked each of their respective high points except for one. But it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

Mt. Katahdin, the highest point in Maine and the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail, is located in the north-central region of the state known as the North Maine Woods. It’s a long journey, but the spectacular views make it well worth the effort. Unfortunately, summer thunderstorms forced me to cancel my original trip back in July, but as soon as my wife began interviewing for her new position in Texas, I decided to give it another try.

I drove the 10-plus hours from New Jersey and started up Abol Trail at daybreak. It was the last weekend of the climbing season, and my goal was to reach the summit and come back down as quickly as possible before a winter storm blew in. I was more than a mile into my hike when I heard someone yelling at me from behind. When I turned around, I saw a woman racing toward me clearly out of breath. She looked relieved when she saw me and asked, “Are you Joshua?”

It was at that moment I realized she was actually a park ranger. Apparently, she had spotted my name at the check-in station and raced up the trail to inform me that the mountain was officially closed due to a snowstorm that had blanketed some areas in knee-deep snow the night before. The worst part, she said, was that the trail would remain closed for the remainder of the season. If I wanted to hike Mt. Katahdin, I would have to return two months later in December when the winter hiking season began.

I was obviously disappointed, but honestly a bit relieved, too, after I remembered the weird feeling I had the night before. I even journaled about it while sitting alone in my van. I wrote, “Part of me feels that things could go terribly wrong tomorrow. I’m experienced, but could I survive on a mountain by myself for an entire night, or two, or more? I can’t help but think I’m making a mistake […] My biggest fear in all of this is having my family live with the pain of a stupid decision, Celine especially.”

It was a cathartic experience for me and one that provided several important takeaways. First, I realized I can no longer take the same haphazard risks as a married man that I did when I was single. Second, I learned that traveling alone in my van is not nearly as much fun as it once was, which is why I decided to enjoy the amenities of the aptly named “Raven Cabin” located along the shores of nearby Lake Millinocket.

There, I watched a documentary called “Roadrunner” about one of my favorite writers, Anthony Bourdain. Toward the end of the film, Bourdain is sitting at a Miami restaurant with musician Iggy Pop. He asks Pop what thrills him after a lifetime of adventure, and Pop responds, “[…] being loved, and actually appreciating the people that are giving that to me.”

A similar theme resurfaced when I watched the movie Bohemian Rhapsody on a flight to Texas over Thanksgiving break. The movie portrays the band Queen and its lead singer Freddy Mercury, played by actor Rami Malek. In one scene when Mercury’s life seems to be spiraling out of control, his former partner, Mary, pays him an unexpected visit and says, “[…] no matter what, you are loved […] It’s enough. […] You don’t belong here […] Come home.”

As much as I have enjoyed traveling these past two years, I’m very much looking forward to turning the page on this chapter of my life and settling down with my beautiful wife in Texas. Of all the places I’ve been, it’s hard to match the simple beauty of the Lonestar State. What I'll enjoy the most is being back home with my family and the appreciation that comes from being loved.

Follow me on Instagram at @Joshua_Maven or @HonchotheVan, on Twitter @MaventheRaven or Facebook at Facebook/TheLastImperial.