Journey. The word is affecting me strangely, as a free-write prompt word. (At Five Minute Friday.)
I’ve used it enough times to refer to moving through a painful time or a time of necessary growth. I’ve written “journey journals” that recorded my progression through some particular trial or other.
But right now, I don’t want to do what I consider journey. I’d like to take a vacation trip instead. And then I’d like to come home and be able to settle in one place, my own little niche, and not have to journey, journey, journey, as if all life were a day by day climb up a mountainside that never reaches the top, and the rest-stop hostels are sometimes hostile and without the comforts associated with home, sweet home.
Though maybe life is just like that, climbing, never arriving, every rest stop only temporary and brief. The top comes later. The climb is called growth. We’re higher up and further along in our ascent, but we can’t always see the view that reveals our upward progress.
The oddest part of this odd reaction is that I’ve been living in the same place for over twenty years now, and haven’t lived like a nomad at all. And there’s a lot of travel I actually long for wistfully: to see more of God’s great, wide, amazing world. The word “travel” implies a leisurely pace, a recreation vacation. Journey sounds like a whole different thing, a possibly arduous trek toward a desired destination whose location is very uncertain.
So this feeling about journeying is symbolic, figurative—and enigmatic.
I don’t fully understand it. I don’t know what it’s all about. But it must be something I need to explore further, need to plunge ahead, and… dare I say it?… journey toward insight and resolution? I hope not. I wish my destination would come to me for once. But then, maybe it will…