Backpack retirement...

I was going through some of my old papers, when I came across a writing I did before leaving Whistler last summer. I had just come back from visiting my friends in Vancouver Island, and it would be my last trip there for at least four or more years. My life was in transition, my thoughts were straight ahead, and my goal was to move back to my roots. It seemed that all I could think of was the East Coast and my upcoming stint as a student. It is funny since not too long ago, the Defiler of Shoes wrote me an email on the idea of "backpack retirement" and then I find this writing...huh. Here you go, and may you enjoy...

It's like time in a box; passing so slowly as if frozen in place. The coastal mountains are at sea-level height, offering a view of soft green light. Growth is occurring in an everyday passage, through thought, listening and reacting. My wake lies white behind me, the churning soon to be met, understood and respected. I have made the Island sojourn back and forth on so many occasions, for so many different reasons. A journey that began in so many different ways, through so many number of days, and a rolling of the dice; all falling where they may.

The travelling burning, the wanderlust of yearning, constantly there in the passion of a young man's learning. A north wind that blows with certainty, guiding...and realizing what may be, will be. An amble over assorted terrain, leading along paths of decision, choice...and sometimes whatever. I have already implemented some structure, and will only add more in the future. Forward thinking that evolves into a way of being. A meager existence for a semantic balance is worth the toil. It is all somewhat easier when you are not waiting on time, and instead looking forward to walking on the East Coast soil.

The first notice of long-term travel is when you start to feel the weight of your pack. Years ago, I did not even know it was there...your fingers reach up and caress the straps, war-bonded twins that have always entered into the fray. Scenery and landscapes change, but what do the eyes truly see? A wanting to move forward, getting the show on the road, to fly down highways of blue and red; valleys of rock and stone, and wheat-filled prairies of golden dreams. I want to head back to my safe harbour in the tempest. At least until, the tempest once again beckons on the north bound current.

Moving ever so slowly, I depart from the Island ferry, once more unsure of when I may return again. I keep the memories stored away as all the images slip through my fingers, and watch as they become lost along a river of change. Self-garnered renewal of thought, all acquired over my long season. The first leg of my journey slowly draws to a close, weeks becoming days; days into seconds. It is so close that I can actually taste it now. What dreams may come for those who dare to daywalk their wanted aspirations? I can smell the East Coast salty-goodness, mingled in with the anticipation of what may be. As I spend yet another day on the road, I find myself stopping to ponder my travels. Where they have led me overshadows outcomes that only the hands of time can reveal. Life is so amazing in what it holds within its sometimes deceiving folds. It all leads me to where I am today...with no regrets. Never regrets.

Hold on McGinty. Hold on.

"Experience is one thing you can't get for nothing."
- Oscar Wilde