Lessons from the Road, part Four

Topography is always beautiful. (Also, you can get used to mountains.)

Sometime between Oklahoma and Albuquerque, the landscape began to look like someplace else. Somewhere distinctly not the Midwest. Hills rolled more, foliage became more scrubby, and we were decidedly in the West.

The further west we drove, the taller the hills became. And then the hills stopped being hills at all and presented themselves as mountains. There was one point where I pointed into the distance and said to Alex, "That shadow waaaaaaay up there? It's gonna be a mountain, eventually." And before too long (the speed limit out there is something akin to 70 mph) sure enough ... mountain.

The landscape kept changing as we progressed toward Phoenix, a little less green, a little higher elevation. The sky seemed a little bluer and the air was warm.

I love this picture; it just feels like the American West to me.

By the time we reached our destination - at the foot of Camelback Mountain in Phoenix - seeing mountains ceased to be "new." It's not like flying in, when the scenery is all of a sudden different. No, this gradual change caused it all to become expected. Mountains, and the beauty therein, had become the norm. Over the course of just a few days, my awe of the horizon had begun to diminish.

And isn't that just the way? We take for granted the things that are always there, even if they are vast and beautiful. And when they're gone, we miss them. It would be better to understand how much we'll miss them while they're here, and treasure them - be they mountains, or people, or heck, even your favorite band - while you're together.

Don't get used to the mountains, or whatever it is in nature that is beautiful about where you live. (I promise you, there's something; maybe several somethings.) Love it, as often as you can. But more importantly, hold close the people who are part of your landscape. Because that landscape can change in the blink of an eye.

Were are not mountains, waiting patiently in the distance for you to come upon us and realize our grandeur. We are perfectly flawed individuals worthy of great and glorious love.

One of the greatest parts of sharing this journey with Alex was that while we drove, we had the opportunity to really talk. Big conversations and little topics flowed between us as easy as air, and over the course of 1,700 miles or so, it became clear that he is among my mountains.

Figure out who your mountains are, and love them well. Tell them. Show them. Listen to them. There is great potential when you're able to do that.

Lessons from the Road, part three

Always know who - and where - your friends are

Backtracking in the chronology here just a little bit, that first night in St. Lou, I made a travel faux pas. I did not let everyone know where I was going. So cue the surprise when, the next morning, I discovered that my friends Biff and Amanda were there, too.

In the exact same little boutique hotel off the beaten path.

Of course, we were all on the road again before we realized we could've connected, had cocktails or breakfast or whatever. I mean, what are the chances? It's 9 a.m. or so and I get this text from Biff. Why did you just post a photo of Moonrise Hotel? Um, dumbass, because that's where I am? Sure enough, a missed opportunity.

What the heck are the chances of that?

So it got me to thinkin' ... sometimes you don't know where your friends are. Not that you should keep tabs on 'em or anything - that would be creepy - but it's interesting to think about the number of near-misses you have as you meander through life.

More importantly, though, you have to know who your friends are. You need to know who's in the tribe, who has your back, who will take to the grave your secrets, who will lock your Facebook account right the hell down in the event of your untimely death. You don't need a lot of these people - a scant handful will do - but you need them. People to whom you can bare your soul, and who will bare theirs right back for you. It matters, ya know, and you deserve them.

They deserve you.

Biff and Amanda have been in my life from way back - back to the old theater days. Biff is the brother of Polly, who is (see if you can follow this) the mother of my godson, a former sharer of the stage and a freakin' hoot in her own right. We've been in touch on and off over the years, and while Polly and family moved out east a few years back, Biff and Amanda are down in Bloomington - close enough for a weekend trip now and then. I remember thinking as we passed through the area that I should text them, just to say hi. Listen to your gut, Margaret. It rarely steers you wrong. But I digress ...

On the subject of friends, it's fair to note that while I have some who have been in my life for a very very long time, a few of my dearest are the ones I met in college. One of the greatest lessons I learned at EIU was that to make friends, you simply had to be a good friend. I discovered that the simplest of acts connected us back then, and keep us connected today. Sharing a beer, loaning a car, tossing a Frisbee, playing Marco Polo in the stacks of the library ... all those things led me to expand my tribe, and I found myself hoping that Alex would discover his own while he's in college, too.

Because college is as much about finding you and yours as it is about academics. We should all be so lucky as to get a degree in Finding Good People. I'd graduate with honors.