This is a short story about coming home. After spending 6 years beating depression, getting a degree, and starting my own company, I left myself. In a lot of ways I found myself, but over the course of those battles and pursuits, I left my free spirit behind. I fell into the trap of convention, andI found my spirit silenced. That changed on November 21st. That night my soul took a breath it had been waiting years for.
Road trip essentials: Swedish fish, and Dr. Pepper are my staple.
One night at the climbing gym, Jake, my climbing partner and classmate, mentioned that he had some photos to take for another class, and he asked me if I'd like to join him on a trip to West Bend, IA to visit the Grotto of the Redemption, and maybe explore some climbing up at Blue Mounds State Park in Luverne, MN. I, being a sucker for an adventure and new places, gleefully agreed to go. We planned to leave on the following Wednesday morning around 3:30–4:00 a.m. The night before we had intended on leaving, Jake texts me and asked if I would be interested in leaving that night and sleeping in the car, to which I, again, gleefully agreed. (Midnight road trips are better than early morning ones anyway, right?) So at 11:45 p.m., we set out for Blue Mounds. Thanks to some caffeine and engaging conversation, I was able to stay awake for the whole drive, until we parked the car at 5:00 a.m. and settled in for a chilly nap.
Guess which one of us slept well?
Waking up came as a sharp surprise at 6:30 when I awoke under my light blanket to a stiff 8° morning. In all of my excitement to go on a midnight adventure, I forgot to pack for warmth. Jake, like any good friend, will never let me live this one down. When Jake woke up, we walked around outside for a bit. After being cold for so long, we decided to hit the road. Unwilling to give up that quickly, I looked at a topo map of the area, and gave Jake directions to the cliffs. When we found the bouldering area, we threw down the crash pad and gave it a go. The rock was sharp and miserably cold, our climbing shoes stiff, and our fingertips numb. After taking a few photos, giving the boulder everything we had, and making a committment to return, we decided to move on.
I named him Thomas. I'm pretty sure he feeds on souls and cupcakes.
On our way back to Iowa, we stopped at a trinket shop on the edge of Luverne and explored the aisles and shelves of knickknacks. In one room we found a taxidermy, what I believe was, a bobcat. It's hard to tell. The thing was kind of horrendous. Outside the store there were old models of antique trucks, a model Airstream, and my favorite, a headless lawn gnome which I was, of course, enamored with. There wasn't much for photographic subjects in the store so we thanked the owners and headed out in search of breakfast.
As we moved south, we stopped for breakfast at a gas station, captured photogenic roadside vistas with smatterings of windmills and rolling hills, and got turned around more than once. It's not really a road trip if you don't miss a turn here and there. The road to West Bend was immersed in bleak scenery of dormant fields and naked trees. With such a sparse landscape, we had no choice but to peel back the layers of our lives and get to know each other a little better. Our conversation was, of course, interrupted a few times by the realization that we had missed a turn. There's something about the intimate space of sharing a car with someone for a day that disarms you and compels you to connect for the sake of entertainment. It's truly a unique way of spending time with someone.
Around 2:30 p.m. or so, we arrived at The Grotto of the Redemption and began exploring the stone and crystal shrine. The place was like a maze with lookouts, tunnels, nooks and hallways. Every where you looked there was something pointing visitors to the gospel story: stations of the cross, sculptures of saints and angels, and text that read, "Glory to God in the Highest." I imagine such a sacred space would be full of religious visitors in the days and weeks surrounding Easter, but for us, we had the peace of solitude. Experiencing this new expression of faith was humbling and inspiring.
By this point, I had slept for all of about an hour and a half since I awoke on Tuesday morning. I was ready for some coffee, so we stopped at Casey's for a bathroom break and some snacks before heading to the old school house, museum, sod house, and old post office. I wasn't expecting much from any of these things, but I was pleasantly surprised. The post office was small, and had a gorgeous monogram at the counter, and all of the supplies that a turn-of-century postmaster would use. The sod house offered a new perspective on how people used to live and illustrated how much our culture has changed. It was a one room house with extremely limited space, highlighting the deep importance of familial intimacy, simplicity, and lack of materialism, things we value differently today. This adventure was becoming more than I had imagined.
We made our last stop at the historical museum. As we walked through, we were offered a taste of how people made things happen around the turn of the century, from how cornmeal is made (spoiler alert: its ground up corn kernels. I'm probably the only Iowan that didn't know that.) to tintype photography and phones with no dials, screens or buttons. With our fast-paced, instant-gratification-addicted culture, I was reminded that it is possible to live a simple, joy-filled life without all of the amenities we have today. It provoked me to think about how I run my company, and what I offer my clients: where can I simplify to serve my clients better? Where can I simplify t make room for joy and contentment in my life?
On the road back, we went through Fort Dodge, and Jake showed me where he used to live and work. I always enjoy seeing apart of someone's life before I came into it. Understanding those little pieces of someone's past gives me a deeper appreciation for who they are and their presence in my life. By this point, our trip had ceased to be a midnight adventure to somewhere new, and evolved into a lesson in thinking of myself less, and appreciating all that is around me.
As we returned to the metro, Jake mentioned that Climb Iowa was still open, and that we could squeeze in an hour and a half of climbing. I agreed, so we pit stopped for quesadillas at Pancheros and headed off to the climbing gym. It was the perfect end to a trip that sent me home with more than I left with. I slept easy that night, not just because I was poorly rested, but because I was able to reconnect with the free spirit that I'd left behind so many years before. As I walked into my apartment that night, coming home meant so much more. It was so much bigger that just getting home from the gym. It was rekindling the part of me that makes me feel alive, that settles me in who I am, and makes me feel at home in my own skin.
This is a story about coming home.
Inhale. Exhale.
After 6 years, I'm home.