Perhaps.
I'm not saying that it's always sublime. But what I am saying is that some of our best conversations, some of our moments of sweetest clarity have come as we all roll down the road together, heading in the same direction in more ways than one. Enjoying the scenery, literally and internally. And casting a quick glance into the rearview mirror to see just how far we've come.
It is marvellous to observe the major shifts and some of the subtle nuances between the ecoregions in Western Canada. From Vancouver to Alberta, we travel up from the Pacific Maritime coastal eco-zone to the prairies. Through desert and up over the Montane Cordillera. The way the light shines in each area and the particular range of colours shifts between the various places. We marvel at the hues of green and blue on the coast and the yellows in the prairies... the dusty golden yellow of a harvested field after the snow has melted and the canary yellow of the canola fields at the height of their bloom.
And it is marvellous to consider the various geographies of our life vocation... the nuances of the call to parent and the call to pastor, the role of the daughter and the role of the son, spouse to each other and friend to friends. We notice the subtle shift from one territory to another, somehow continuous and somehow totally different. How easily we move from place to place, and between all the roles we are permitted to fill.
We also marvel at how easily we travel. No borders, no patrols or check-stops or questioning. Only a very brief intermission at the gate to the National Park to pay a small entry fee while being reminded not to feed the wildlife. Otherwise, we have no fear of traveling. It is a privilege, an adventure.
But I have wrestled with this, knowing that there are an estimated 200 million people who have moved across borders for reasons that are beyond unpleasant, for fear of their lives, with no particular final destination and often no plan for getting there. Can you imagine the stress? Travelling with young children? Leaving everything behind? Not knowing exactly where to end, unsure of the possibility of ever going back?
Those of us with the Western mindset of "Road-Tripping" have this entrenched and privileged view of movement. We go mostly where we want when and how we'd like. We set out the map before us and draw our route. This highway, or that one this time? ... This is my question: What is it going to take for us to realize that there are so many millions for whom geographical movement represents terror and uprooted lives? Instability and loss?
I guess I'm going from road-trip to guilt-trip here. But what option do we have? We could possibly continue on the road more frequently travelled - the one which takes us to our preferred destination. Or, as we so often hear, we could take the one less travelled. But what about another option? What if, instead of living AS IF our traveling was unrelated to the global movement of so many others, WHAT IF we take the path of greatest resistance and walk our way to meet those who are hoping to be met - not on some road, but on some unmarked passage. Perhaps when we stop living AS IF and beginning wondering WHAT IF, we might begin to really see something new.
I'm saying two things:
1) Let the road speak. Listen carefully, observe with great attention. Be shaped by the shape of things around you.
2) Get off the road to really travel. Be ready to anticipate the needs of weary travellers. Get ready to say no to the hankering to see the next destination. Consider what benefit might occur from "staying put."
Off the beaten path, in the bright light of the Prairie made even brighter in a flowering canola field.
Our little Mazda MPV loaded down with gear and bikes south bound on the QE2 in Alberta, following my brother and sister-in-law's white Sienna.
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