As I step off the jetway and turn toward the terminal, I have complete freedom.  That light-as-a-feather feeling of an empty calendar; no one waiting for me, or expecting anything of me.  Hell, only a few people know I’m back in Colorado.  Whatever I decide to do next is my choice, and my choice alone.  I’ve been living nomadically for the last year — no lease, very little stuff, nothing tying me down and no attachments.  Figuring it out as I go, deciding where I want to be at any given moment, and going.  I have my tent, pad, sleeping bag and bear spray, so I can sleep wherever I want.  Complete freedom.

Two steps later, I feel the knee-buckling, back-bending weight of freedom come crashing down.  It’s 4:30 and  I have no idea where I’m going to sleep. No one waiting for me.  No one to call and say Hey, I just landed. No one looking forward to my arrival, and no where to drop my bags with a sigh of relief.  No comfortable, familiar bed to climb into. I have options – generous friends and open-ended offers of a place to crash, and there is probably still time to drive toward the mountains and find a place to camp.  But every option has its pros and cons, and at I’m tired from a day of travel, and I have no home.  I have friends, but I don’t have my person.

You can put away your miniature violin, I’m not seeking pity or sympathy – this is a choice, this is my choice.  A choice I make each day.  And I will make the same choice tomorrow.  I’ve lived most of my life weighed down by responsibility, tied down by attachments and buried under stuff.  I made those choices, and have countless memories and no regrets.  But in the end my knees buckled; my back gave, and I collapsed under the weight of it all.

I say this only to recognize that life is a balancing act.  My pendulum has swung from one extreme to the other.  In letting go of so many restrictions and gaining complete freedom, I let go of familiarity, comfort and security.  Lost companionship.  And while it’s a choice I make every day, it’s not always rainbows and unicorns.  Sometime is really fucking sucks.

Freedom, even complete freedom, is not weightless.

Awww, you poor, white, american male with such a heavy burden of freedom.

– inner critic

And so I walk through DIA, headphones singing, focus inward, feeling, really feeling, the uncertainty.  My chest aches and my lungs sting.  The sadness.  The loneliness. I know it will pass, and not for a moment do I regret my choice this day.

I know my path lies ahead, not behind, and there is no shortcut. So I lean in and continue to push through.

48 hours later, I’m watching the sun sink into a reservoir in middle-of-nowhere Wyoming.  I’m standing on a beach, my head slightly buzzing from a mixture of beer and tequila.  Two friends sit on camp chairs behind me, their laughter mixes with the sound of crickets, the mooing of cows and the chatter of families in neighboring campsites.  We’re here to see the total solar eclipse, the exact center of which will pass by about 30 miles north.

We’ve been laughing; my chest aches we’ve been laughing so much.  Music is playing, and they’re pouring more drinks, albeit a little unsteadily.  I’m staring toward the horizon taking stock.  Feeling this moment.  I am exactly where I want to be.  Where I need to be.

I feel joy and happiness coursing through my body, my chest warm and my mind at peace as I revel in the beauty of the life I am creating.  This is why I keep moving forward; pushing through. Two days prior, my mind had listed dozens of reason why I shouldn’t come – from the crowds to the traffic to the unfamiliarity and discomfort.  But the call of experiences won out, and here I am, exactly where I belong.  Free to choose fun and adventure over comfort and familiarity.

It’s about the experiences, stupid.

– hindsight

At 11:45:41 the next morning, I remove my eclipse glasses and look towards the moon, completely obscuring the sun.  I’m speechless.

Words are inadequate, but, well, this is a blog, so here goes.

We are on the side of a road, two of hundreds, maybe thousands of cars lining the side of the road.  We’re surrounded by prairie and farmland, barbed wire and tumbleweed.  We’ve been here since 7:30, having fought through the aching after-effects of beer and tequila to get up early and get a spot right at the midpoint of the path of totality. Prime real estate.

 

 

By this time, we’ve been watching for more than an hour through eclipse glasses as the moon slowly slides across the perfect disk of the sun.  The light is strange – dim, almost hazy, but at mere moments away from totality, still far brighter than I would have imagined.  A friend has noticed the crickets are chirping, as if believing evening is here.

 

 

As totality approaches, 11:45:40 at our location, everyone has stopped what they’re doing, and is looking up, mouths agape, anticipation building.   Through the eclipse glasses, there is a tiny pinhole of light escaping from the right edge of the sun, and yet it is still enough to bathe us in daylight.  Then the pinhole is gone, and I peek under my eclipse glasses.  It is safe, and I quickly take them off.

Breathtaking.

 

 

The good thing about science is that it’s true whether or not you believe in it.

– Neil deKickAss Tyson*

The sky is dark, like dusk. There is a black disk where the sun was moments ago, surrounded by a beautiful halo of light – the corona. It reminds me of video I’ve seen from SOHO.  Only better… immeasurably better. It feels… strange… to be staring directly at the sun in the middle of the day.  It is dark enough to see planets in the sky – is that Jupiter?  Mind boggling.  The horizon is stained, like sunset, but all around, 360 degrees.  It is much colder – the temperature has dropped about 10 degrees in the last couple minutes, and I have goosebumps – a mixture of the cool breeze that has picked up and the awe that travels through my body.  People are cheering and shouting. I find myself joining in, it doesn’t seem possible to hold in the amazement.  Look at that… Wow, this is … Can you believe…?  The experience is shared, however I’m not alone in exclaiming and pointing out the obvious.  Like a small child announcing his new discovery to anyone who will listen.

We have nearly two and a half minutes of totality – enough time to soak it in, to explore this strange, shadow world.  Then the chatter starts to pick up in volume, as the end of totality approaches, and everyone looks up… and there it is.  A brilliant flash of pure white light bursts from the top right corner – the diamond ring effect.  I experience it with my naked eyes, but need to quickly look away.

Things unfold rapidly after that – people are already in their cars, and starting the drive back.  A moment ago, the whole world stood still, holding its breath.  We were connected in this shared, awe inspiring experience.  Then exhalation, and suddenly it is every man for himself. The rush to beat the traffic has begun.

I could have stayed and camped, but I decide to push through.  The drive back to CO is long, the traffic is epic.  My eyes sting and I am beyond exhaustion as I arrive back in Boulder, well after midnight.  And the sense of joy and awe is still with me.  we’re already talking about Argentina two years from now. I think I’ll be free then.

I’ll be there.

Will you?

 

* If it’s not his middle name, it should be.