Go to Pana-sea-ah

There is something wonderful about seeing new places in the world, seeking out new adventures, trying new foods and ways of being in the world, meeting new people. I’m all for that exploring, the kind that T.S. Eliot reminds us in his Four Quartets takes us right back where we started from:

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."

The exploring is the life, the journey is the destination. And yet, a part of me loves repetition as much as newness. As a kid, we often camped at Julian Price Park Campground, a place I now realize wasn’t far from home, though to this eight-year-old it seemed a universe away. There was the big tree that stuck out over the wild river (now tame to adult eyes) – I knew where I was when I was there.

And, so, repetition comforts and frames us, somehow. For instance, I am loving my new annual trip with my friends David and Lora to a magical inn on the Oregon Coast. Far from the heat of Portland where I’m teaching this month, the drive there was deep in green forest, that blue/gray/white sky and clouds I love so much, the Wailin Jenny’s on the CD player, and a fair amount to think about for the few hours it took to drive there, decompressing from my class last week. The amazing innkeepers, Bob and Mary, will take good care of you. Go, see, fall asleep to ocean sounds, wake up to them, eat the best granola in the world, homemade. Ask for the Garden Room.