In January
of 2013, we arranged to spend a week in southern Oregon at the Klamath wildlife
refuges. Originally, we planned to
witness the great eagle fly-out that is supposed to be one of the must-see events
of the area in winter. We never did see
that...but we were just hooked on the beauty of the frost-laden landscape and
the other winter wildlife--raptors, owls, coyotes, swans, geese and ducks--that
populated the seemingly deserted refuges.
We had such a great time that we returned the following January, and the
second trip cemented my love of the place.
Ever since, I've
been longing to go back, but finances and other issues kept us from returning
in 2015 and 2016. As this past summer
came to a close, I knew I couldn't stay away any longer. But in light of the husband's revelations
about his lack of attachment to another of my beloved get-away venues, I asked him if he wanted to go, instead of
just going ahead and making the reservations, as I normally would have done. And though I wasn't shocked, I was hugely
disappointed when he said, "Nah.
I've seen it."
This
defection tore at my heart even more than the beach revelation. The ocean is just 90 minutes away. I can, have and will go there by myself. It's lonely, but it's possible...familiar. It's my second home, and I'm comfortable
there.
But Klamath
is a trek--four hours by train, rent a car, arrange for lodging, consider
inclement weather (snow, ice, zero-degree temperatures). It was not only a place that I came to love;
it was a little challenge that we faced together and conquered. We would strike out in the mornings, just the
two of us alone together wandering around these huge expanses of beautiful
country, then we'd straggle back into town as the sky darkened and pick some
funky little place to have dinner. It
was a really good time, a really special time.
Or at least, that would have been my synopsis of the experience. Apparently, it was something entirely
different for the husband; something that he had no burning desire to
repeat...so he told me.
I was beyond
sad. For a time, I just didn't think
about it, because every time I did, I would literally start to cry. Then, I decided I had to hitch up my big girl
panties and go anyway, if that was what I really wanted to do. I approached my sister about coming along
with me. She got on board, but I could
tell the prospect didn't excite her much.
I resolved not to worry about that...at least I had procured a companion
so that I wouldn't have to be timid, lonely and half-fearful (my usual
condition when I sally forth on these odysseys alone.) This was back in the end of August. The way now was clear for me to make the
arrangements, firm up the reservations...plan the trip.
But for some
reason, I haven't done it. Hard to
figure, right? I was SO adamant that I
had to go, with or without the husband; happy that I had lined up an
escort. Yet I couldn't pull the trigger
on the trip. WTF?
Lately, I've
come to understand that when my determination to do something peters out in this kind of hesitant funk, it means the
Universe is telling me something is not right.
"Don't go for it. Not
yet." This has happened to me a lot
in the past several years, since I've been making a greater effort to tune in
to the nudging of the Spirit. And when I
slog forward and do the thing anyway, I usually find out pretty quickly why the
Universe was trying to put a warning hand in front of my face. If it doesn't turn into a disaster, it falls
apart, or at the very least fails miserably to meet expectations. So it's best to pay attention when I
inexplicably lose my zeal for a project.
Certainly I
would not nag the husband into going with me anyway. If he didn't want to go, what was the point
of dragging him along? The essence of my
sadness and confusion about the whole thing was that I had completely misread
his feelings about the experience. It was like a knife in my heart to find that
something for which I took for granted we had a shared love, was in fact
just me dragging him along in my wake; and him coming along because....well, whatever
the reason was, it wasn't because he
loved it. There was no setting that
aside and charging ahead anyway. I
couldn't bear for him to come along if he didn't love it, too.
And yet, it ate at me.
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