Wings

Since I was a child, I always knew that I was a born explorer, a journeyer. I was lucky that my early growing up took place on eighteen acres of land in northeastern Ohio, a land full of wildflowers and forests, small creeks and strawberry fields. In the summer my parents would rent an RV, an affordable way to travel with their four children at that time. We traveled east to the Atlantic Ocean and west to the Pacific and back. We’d park in campgrounds and mall parking lots. Like a snail we carried our readymade home on our back. As children, it was not just play, although for me it felt like it. Remember these were the days way before Google maps and phones with GPS. We were required to read maps, plan the route, decide what to visit, to learn about where we were going. I was given a map and looked for the roads we were on and the ones we could take to our destinations. On the maps were often markings highlighting sights along the way worth visiting. State capitals were marked with a star and other information about the state was recorded. As the oldest, I was also charged with entertaining my father during the long hours of driving. We drove from Ohio to the western coast of the United States where we scanned the horizon for whales breaching in the Pacific Ocean as we hugged the coastline on the incredible scenic Highway 1. We visited caverns in New Mexico darkened to complete blackness and then headed back home to Ohio across Texas and north. We continued our travels to the eastern coast of the United States where we stopped at Plymouth Rock and toured the artistic sites of Provincetown, Massachusetts. The skills that I learned as a child have carried me through many moments. The maps may look different and my learning may take on a different quality, but in essence, I see life as a path that is continuously unfolding in front of me. As an adult, my horizons expanded and I traveled to all the continents. I touched the shores of Vladivostok in Siberia, Russia, dove in the amazing coral reefs of Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, climbed the mountains of Bhutan to light temple incense, and knelt in wonder at the altar of St Peter’s Basilica in Rome. I have watched the sunrise lighting the icebergs of Antarctica into crystalline castles and I’ve watched the sunset colors creating magic over the African savannah. I’ve hiked to the fin de le monde, the end of the world, at the tip of South America, and I’ve experienced the wonder of the powerful waterfalls of Victoria. Each majestic moment added to the foundation of remembering who I was and who I wanted to become. Each added strength and qualities that would come to sustain me in one of my greatest journeys yet to come. As I set out to write this book, I wondered, “what exactly is a journey?” According to Webster’s dictionary, it’s defined as travel from one place to another. However, if you delve a bit deeper, it is also defined as a passage from one stage to another, perhaps even calling it a transformation. Throughout my life, any travel I have done includes both definitions. Immersing myself in the culture, the people, the spirit of the country or place that I visited became an essential part. Often I feel drawn somewhere because there is something that I’m supposed to learn. Another question I’ve been pondering is “what defines a traveler, a journeyer, a pilgrim?” One of the most powerful scenes in Emilio Estevez’s movie, “The Way”, is a heated, emotional discussion about what makes a “pilgrim”. The movie chronicles a group of people hiking the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain, which is often also called a pilgrimage because originally it was a religious journey. The question the movie asks is: “Is the only way to be a pilgrim to hike the 500 plus miles by foot with all your belongings on your back in a big backpack?” In the context of the movie, could you also be considered a pilgrim if you hiked the trail in shorter pieces, instead of all at once? What if you only hiked on the weekends or even in different years? Could you bike it? Could you ride a donkey? Drive a car? A wheelchair? Have someone else carry your bags? Or could you “ride” your chair at home and travel via books, movies and stories? When did you become a pilgrim? What defined this pilgrim? I’ve come to believe that the moment you decide a journey is a journey--it is. And you travel it by any means that draw you. So I say to you all reading this, that as soon as you picked up this book, you became a journeyer, a traveler, an adventurer, and yes, a pilgrim. I believe you’ve picked up this book because you are meant to be here with me, to take a journey of the soul. There’s a wisdom that draws you along. Even being a lifelong, seasoned traveler, I was not prepared for the unexpected journey I took in 2020, one I could never have imagined. I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. My journeys went from outward to inward as I navigated my diagnosis and treatment. All that I had learned from where I’d traveled before became part of what I know and who I am and how I survived and thrived during those difficult months. Over my years of traveling, without really noticing it, I honed a set of “travel rules” that helped me along the way. And once I was diagnosed, I incorporated these travel rules into my cancer journey. I’ve learned that a journey can take many shapes and forms, and it is my hope that sharing my experiences with you will help you find your own way. So, fellow travelers and pilgrims, no matter what journey you are on, may these rules offer you reassurance and guidance.