Traveling alone

What joy there is in traveling alone

Attuning to my self and around

Listening in and out

Moving where I am being called to

Open in such a self-confident way

Being seen as self instead of part of a whole or bounded construct or overlaid with assumptions about how to approach, how open I would be

And that chuckle in me that, finally, what is also coming out is my little defiant, determine child that says “let me do it alone, my way” “I can do it on my own”

Adjusting my pace to my own inner drives,

An acute sense about safety, risk-taking and courage

When to linger, when to create an impenetrable membrane, when to look up and when to keep my head down, my gaze guarded

When to fill up fully, drink in, when to just take a quick sip and move on

Brief connections with women, children, and some men about shared experiences, we exchange knowing glances and smiles

With women, there is always recognition of strength, shared joy and compassion, of sisterhood and being out, being in fully, of showing up

The noise is different; it is a harmony or orchestra to attune to.  Without another to really bring home, fixate, presence, drive down possible complains or impatience or judgment, any such notions pass over me so swiftly, so lightly, nothing remains.

My energy is focused on here and on the next here, on moments of connection that arise so surprisingly, so sweetly, that keeping or staying in place with anything that darkens me or makes me rigid is not possible.

Traveling along is moving with and in, it is swaying with, connecting with such small moments and with the largest whole beyond me, us, this moment.