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the everyman memoirs

The official blog of author Tali Nay.
JUN
21

On The Road Again

It's been over twenty years since, as a high schooler, I set foot on the campus where I would eventually attend college. I was attending a summer honors program that accepted 25 high-schoolers across the country and gave them the chance to get some early college credits. I still think of this small farming town fondly, and last week I got the chance to visit. The college has since expanded into a full-fledged university, and the way this little town has grown and flourished was exciting to see. Of course, the sentimental side of me always pines for the way things used to be, and sometimes change in any form, even positive change, can seem, well, kind of sad. The dorm I lived in, for example, has been torn down and replaced by a parking lot. The pie shop where I celebrated my 19th birthday has closed. The green hillsides are covered with new apartments and condos, distracting from the purity of the view.

This visit was part of a 5-state road trip that seemed appealing after so many months of staying at home. With my co-pilot handling navigation, music, and snacks, we set out to see some different slices of earth as a way to remind ourselves of just how much there is outside of our own small corner of the world. The ultimate prize was a brief 24 hours spent in the company of some of my family, but the majority of the trip was driving, and in some ways, it's simply amazing how varied the terrain gets within just a few hours of the places where we live. Mountains, desert, and ridiculously hot weather. Each night spent somewhere new, each morning a different granola bar or piece of fruit handed over from a front-desk hotel worker. There's something peaceful about being on the road, being temporarily attached to nowhere, and despite the exhaustion of several days of driving, the less than stellar hotel beds and pillows, and the digestive distress that comes from eating foods you wouldn't normally be eating (just me?), arriving back home has felt, for lack of a better term, somewhat boring. I suppose that's the power of the open road, of not knowing what exactly you'll find just beyond that next mountain.

JAN
27

Retreat

It's like this. January sucked. So I checked myself into the Marriott in Anaheim for what felt like a much needed retreat. I meant to spend the bulk of the weekend at Disneyland, but a hot bath and a king bed are tough to walk away from. I meant to get some reading done, but this room service menu might be as far as I get. I meant to do a little writing, but this blog may have to suffice.

Retreat in its noun form can of course refer to a place of calm or quiet where a person can rest and relax. That's certainly what I had in mind for this weekend. One could argue that my own house is enough of a retreat already...I mean, isn't it pretty much always calm and quiet? Yes and yes. But no one there will cook whatever I want from a menu. No one there will make my bed. No one there will clean up after me. Or my cat. No one there will give me rewards points for booking a stay. Nothing about a person's every day life feels very much like a retreat.

We can't forget, however, that retreat has other meanings, and in my current state of feeling nothing short of gutted by the havoc January has wreaked, I can't help but think of the definition that implies the act of withdrawing; of recognizing impending defeat and getting yourself the hell out in order to regroup. (My words, not Webster's.) Like I said, January sucked. And its implications will spill into February, into spring, summer, and likely affect my entire year in a way I am not at all prepared for.

So, see, I need this weekend. I needed to retreat to this retreat, and while I'm not sure what the next several months will bring, here's what I do know: tomorrow I'm ordering waffles for breakfast and will ride Radiator Springs no fewer than three times. (Unless I decide to stay in bed, in which case, just the waffles.)