I'm no Shakespeare

Whether I'm right or whether I'm wrong
Whether I find a place in this world or never belong
I gotta be me, I've gotta be me
What else can I be but what I am

I want to live, not merely survive
And I won't give up this dream
Of life that keeps me alive
I gotta be me, I gotta be me
The dream that I see makes me what I am

That far-away prize, a world of success
Is waiting for me if I heed the call
I won't settle down, won't settle for less
As long as there's a chance that I can have it all

I'll go it alone, that's how it must be
I can't be right for somebody else
If I'm not right for me
I gotta be free, I've gotta be free
Daring to try, to do it or die
I've gotta be me

I'll go it alone, that's how it must be
I can't be right for somebody else
If I'm not right for me
I gotta be free, I just gotta be free
Daring to try, to do it or die
I gotta be me
        -- Sammy Davis, Jr., 1968

January 15, clear, sunny skies and 69 degrees at 4:30. I’m back in shorts and T-shirt, enjoying the comfort and freedom that provides, and thankful that weather has been no problem during the past eleven months on the road.

And the elements aren’t all that has cooperated. My little Saturn has performed magnificently. I’m a terrible owner – failing miserably to perform routine maintenance and allowing all forms of detritus to accumulate on the interior and exterior of the vehicle – but the car has not let me down; not once.

My body – also having been subjected to both neglect and abuse – has been equally dependable. It’s survived two bouts of the flu and a few upset stomachs; but no injuries or other failures that could easily have sidelined me or shortened the trip. I’ve been lucky and am grateful to whatever powers that may have contributed to that good fortune.

Modern technology has not let me down on this trip. I’ve characteristically ventured forth without consulting a map – confident that my GPS navigator would direct me to the chosen destination. And it did. My first unit served me well, but failed at about the halfway point. I sought repairs to no avail and decided to just invest in a new unit. That proved to be a wise decision as I’ve not been confused about my whereabouts at all during this adventure – and that’s a wonderful change from previous experience.

The facilities I’ve occupied – operated by the Holiday Retirement Corporation – have been simply wonderful. I’ve been a bit cramped in a few of the guest rooms, but (as I am doing right now) have always been able to utilize spacious common areas. I’m currently seated in the third-floor game room beside an open window where I enjoy a nice afternoon breeze.

The people who run these facilities have been willing to bend over backwards to make my stay pleasant. And the residents… Well, if I do write a book I’ll still be unable to communicate what it has been like to spend time in conversation with hundreds and hundreds of members of my parents’ generation.

When I cut south, a few hours ago, leaving Interstate 10 enroute to I-8 and Yuma, I passed a sign that told me I was close enough to home that I could almost certainly have made it there before midnight. A week ago, I was eager for the trip to end; but I’m beginning to wish I were still heading into unfamiliar territory.

The road has been just about everything to me for nearly a year. Soon, I’ll have to turn my attention to other matters. Income taxes, dental appointments, updating of all kinds of things I’ve neglected for so long, re-establishing customs, traditions, standard procedures and all of the humdrum, everyday, routine, predictable, largely meaningless, time-consuming, life-draining, uninspiring behaviors that always seem to end with a question:

“Where did the time go?”

Thirty-five states and six Canadian provinces. About 18,000 miles and nearly a year. More than 1,500 breakfast, lunch and dinner partners. Seventy-five temporary homes. Hundreds of new friends whose names I never really learned and whom I’ll never see again.

I’m glad to be ending this trip as Spring approaches. Though I used to favor Summer, I’m now a fan of lengthening days, new birth and growth, warming temperatures and a sense that it’s always possible to start again – even, perhaps, to be born again and start over.

Oh, man!

It takes a lot of nerve to NOT delete a lot of this and never let it see the light of day. Maybe there is something of significance in there, though, so I’ll cover my eyes and post this sappy blog (and pity those who may take time to read it).

As the sun slowly sets west of Yuma…