Back in 2020, in that early sliver of what was sure to be a promising year, I started making preliminary plans to visit Alaska. Known widely as “The Last Frontier” and my own final frontier, too. I’d traveled to 49 states since touching down in Hawaii a couple years prior, and it was time, at last, to conquer them all.
Fifty states. Who can say they’ve been to all fifty states? And not just to them, mind you.
In them. With-in them. Frolicking about inside of them. None of this driving-through-a-state-and-“counting”-it nonsense.
And so, I started pondering a weeklong trek to Alaska later in the year — say, August or September? I got so excited. Forty-nine states to my name, soon to be fifty — I even made this my “fun fact” when I was announced as a new member in front of my church that February of 2020.
Well. We all know why that trip didn’t happen.
And it’s been plaguing me ever since. Three and a half years of longing for Alaska.
Until now. I refuse to long any longer.
Building back stamina from an autoimmune disease that ravaged both my body and my finances, and now clear of a pandemic, I’m finally following through on that fun fact from three years ago. Forty-nine states visited and lived are about to become fifty.
And oh am I giddy.
There is something epic about completing this list with Alaska. This upcoming trip would have a different vibe if I were finishing with, oh, Connecticut. Could you imagine? My planning a weeklong journey into the heart of Stamford?
(Stamford is a lovely town, by the way.)
I’m sure I’d have made the most of it, made it “epic” in its own right, but that I get to celebrate the big 5-0 with a flight to Juneau, another flight to Anchorage, trains to Denali National Park and Fairbanks, busses and shuttles into the heart of the glaciers at Kenai Fjords, maybe a boat or two along the way — well, I just feel more excited for this trip than any other I’ve taken in quite a while.
I get a charge from traveling. Sometimes I share these journeys with a companion, but more often than not it’s just me out there: boarding planes, staring out windows, winding lines mesmerizing me in the road. National parks and city skylines and coffee joints. Thinking, feeling, breathing.
Solo.
Don’t get me wrong, I love people. I’ll be staying with a few Couchsurfers way up there. Sharing some lovely meals and drives, I’m sure.
But I also love this solo escape. I love it over and over. This getting off the grid. Talking to God. Listening for God. Seeing God in nature and in people and in all the connecting steps I’ve taken to get to this point and place.
I love this sacred chance to exhale both my breath and my heart’s deepest yearnings. To journal and pray and marvel and, sometimes, weep, unfettered. With God.
Traveling solo is an intimate experience. It’s rarely lonely.
I don’t know how to explain it other than I often feel “off” when I’m not traveling and “on” when I am. Something clicks on the road. Something connects. I feel as if I’m doing what I was ever ago crafted to do. To see more, hear more, experience more.
And then to tell about the stories I find, the stories I live.
Alas, I’ve had to learn that not traveling can also grant me life. I think I’ve “seen it all” here in Asheville after seven years now; whereas I know I haven’t seen anything in Alaska. The wonder is already unfurled for me up there like a red carpet, the moment I touch down.
But gosh. As exciting as it is stepping off a plane and breathing new air for the first time…there’s also not a feeling quite like returning home, setting down your things, and falling back into a bed that’s yours. Seeing your friends again. Hitting up those same old coffee joints.
That’s a sacred, special feeling, too.
It’s a balance I’ve been learning since my epic 9-month life on the road ran its course from 2014 to 2015: this practice, this art of movement and stability. Of traditions old and new. Of people and places foreign and fresh, and faithful and true. We need people and things to stay the same, and we need people and things to change.
We need both in this life.
I’m excited to experience a slew of new things soon: the mountains, the waters, maybe a moose? Some quirky hostels and a Denali campout. Sunlight at midnight. A chance for my screen-saturated eyes to blink and breathe afresh.
And then after two weeks of Alaskan frolics, to return to Asheville and appreciate my home anew: the cozy bed, the cozy coffee, the cozy people. The coming and the going, and the blessed coming home again.
And then…the crafting of a new travel bucket list.
I’ve already got a hunch of what comes next.
