Journals
April 15, 2000
Reno, Nevada
We had left San Diego to get some time alone and reconnect with ourselves once again. The plan was to drop Rebecca off in Grass Valley for a weeklong visit to Ananda, a mountain retreat center for spiritual growth. Rebecca had come to a point in her life where she deeply craved the silence and solitude afforded by seclusion and this craving was quickly becoming undeniable. I myself needed some space to refresh my mental image and enjoy all those things about the quiet life I find so alluring.
We spent our first night under the stars and enjoyed it immensely. We had found a quiet reservoir some miles off interstate 5 that was surrounded by rolling hills topped with a layer of golden grass, which looked as if God himself had spread it on the landscape with a butter knife. The sunlight baked the grainy fragrance from the fields and it waft through the air embellishing the beautiful scenery with its scent. It was a welcome site after following a blackened stretch of highway across the southern California's farmlands. We made camp right on the shore of the little reservoir and sat eating the fruit and nuts we had purchased from one of the many roadside stands. It was quite a contrast to the bustle of San Diego. The numbing static of the freeway was replaced by the melodic chirp of crickets and a chorus of bullfrogs whose baritone rhapsody was a salve to my soul. I had a deep, relaxing night’s sleep and awoke with a fresh outlook on life and my place in it.
We set out early that morning and arrived at Ananda Seclusion Retreat in the afternoon. We found a dingy, cluttered encampment that bore little resemblance to the brochure and caretaker's description. The cabins were in such a state of disrepair and neglect that it took very little convincing to persuade Rebecca to find another retreat. Although she desperately wanted some time to herself, she knew this would not be the place.
We spent that night at a small lake in the Sierras and awoke the following morning to a magnificent sunrise dropping beams of warmth through the pine trees. A quiet breakfast and a short walk around the lake found us in a wonderfully contemplative mood that would carry on through the afternoon. The sight of Reno peeking through the mountains as we weaved our way out of the Sierras provoked a telling dichotomy of feelings. On one hand I was anxious to see my sons, AJ and Cody, and spend some time with my good friend Jewls and her sister Leah.
Still, I was filled with a somewhat familiar yet indescribable tension. It had awoken memories of a few months prior when I was commuting from Reno to the Bay Area weekly.
I had been struggling with the idea of leaving my business, friends, family and the place I'd called home for most of my life to embark on the adventures I had always imagined. I know this was my destiny because I had chosen it through my words, thoughts, dreams and finally actions. Yet there was a conflict in my mind as I wrestled with my fear of losing a comfortable situation and a desire to grow beyond my self-imposed limitations. How do you just walk away from all you have worked so hard to accomplish? How can you just leave everything behind and go live your dreams? Those ideals are not taught in our society, or at least not to the people and myself I had known. We were taught to be responsible, reliable, dependable and in essence cynical with regards to change. I had been taught that dreams inhabit one place... my imagination. I was told that, in order to survive, I would have to compromise all of those wonderful 'flights of fancy'.
Somewhere along the way I began to question that rationale. I started to live my dreams a little at a time and opening myself to the dreaded discomfort we imagine comes from stepping out of the norm. I quit my job and started my own business with only my wits and talent as tools. I was scared stiff... looking around myself and wondering what the hell
I had done. Soon after that brief panic attack, I started to act like I knew what I was doing. Several days later I had convinced myself and everyone else that I did know what I was doing! In a few months I was comfortable again, having the time of my life with only the vaguest recollection of the fear that had gripped my stomach that first day.
So driving into Reno now felt uncomfortable to me. I knew that my time there was done. There are different places I needed to be and different experiences I wanted to have. We spent a week there visiting and tying up some loose ends. Driving out of Reno felt good. I knew the momentum of my life was behind me and felt the strengths of conviction drawing me onward into the unknown. As the city faded from the rearview mirror I felt a bit of closure... as if a chapter of my life had received it's final punctuation. Ahead lies a new paragraph and its story line unfolds without compromising those wonderful flights of fancy.