Blog virgin here, just revving up and learning the contours of this new road, the blogosphere.
The title, "A road of one's own," echoes Virginia Woolf's words. What does a writer need, she asked? A few pounds and a room of one's own.
The artist needs a room, a niche, a tree house, a car--some space that's her own.
We also need roads of our own. I learned that after years of being a passenger, letting someone else do all the driving. Where to stop, when, for how long--those were the decisions of The Driver. We rarely agreed.
Our traveling styles couldn't have been more different (though we didn't know that until we were already far enough down the road that a U-Turn was out of the question.)
The driver in this story believed in getting there, fastest route possible. (Our son calls his father's travel style Operation Haul-Ass) The passenger, had she been behind the wheel, would have meandered all the way. (Operation Poking Around.)
Day, one of my mentors and traveling companions, gave me a bag filled with art supplies. Inspired to stretch out of my comfort zone of words, I'm traveling a new road. Playing with colored pencils and wet paints is delicious, juicy.
When I begin a trip, I meander, get lost on purpose, take detours. I meet the most amazing trees and people along the way. Encounters on the road can change everything.
Tennyson wrote, "I am a part of all that I have met." Imagine that--every tree, every movie, every friend, every delicious encounter with strangers--it all becomes part of you. How can we meet--if we don't meander?
