An Ode to the Sojourn (Day 160, Year 2)

Mike and I have begun taking nightly walks. I call them our neighborhood sojourns, because I am ridiculous like that. Our kids have asked to come along and I always tell them, "absolutely not."

Sometimes, you just need to be away from them and their problems, so you can clear your head with your husband. 

Like tonight, dance recital night, when one of the three had a very intense, loud (so loud), endless (surprised it did end), dramatic (comes with being a dancer) breakdown over a costume (maybe? Still unclear on root cause of the whole thing) and then set off a series of family breakdowns out in our yard (a show for those who bring their cherubs to the playground for family time!). 

Anyway, like I said, I need to get away from my children with their father, so the sojourn is the only way. 

Our nightly walks are something I look forward to every single day. We can speak freely without our children listening (they are like the CIA and monitoring us at all times) and without them interrupting us (they talk a lot). We also can just talk about benign things--like neighbor's gardens and uneven pavement (and how my watch does not think I am a fall risk, when I am absolutely a fall risk!). 

These walks are better than therapy and more special than a date night. They are magical--which is why I call them sojourns. They are brief--temporary stays in a fluid place that you can't ever return to, even if you walk the same route each night. 

During the pandemic, I'd leave the house and walk for hours and miles. Of course, then, I'd jump out of the way of people passing by (lest they sweat COVID on me). But, regardless of my strange behavior, those COVID sojourns kept me sane. I often walk around the lake when I need to puzzle through writing ideas and words that are untamable. Once, I felt into the lake, getting my sneaker stuck when I had the best idea for a blog post for work that ended up being the most highly trafficked bit of content I ever wrote (obviously it's totally out of date now, so back to the drawing board!).  I'll sojourn my way to another idea, someday; and I am sure another one after that. 

That's the wonderful thing about the sojourn--it's always there for you; you just have to walk out the door, right into it.