Inspiration and Small, Tight Circles

My husband has inspired me, as he oftentimes does. Today, he has inspired me with his blogging, and I am encouraged follow his example. The end of our constant motion does not mean that the journey has also ended.

But I miss covering ground. I miss walking long miles and tumbling into bed, feet and legs aching from hard use. These days I seem to be turning in small, tight circles, and it makes me feel a bit dizzy. My feet have nothing to say, it's my hands now that shriek and moan.

It has been so simple to slip back into the routines and seemingly-mundane activities of life in New Orleans. And yet, we are changed. Small, but substantial, alterations in our behaviors and patterns and conversations are constant reminders of new perspectives and experiences.

Memories from Honey Service Year bubble up with regularity, helping us to remember the significant and importance of fleeting, chance encounters with people and places that can unexpectedly change your life.


We are never without hummus; I make it from scratch, with dried chickpeas purchased at Mona's store.

We eat vegetables. A lot. And we are patronizing local markets and community gardens. I am also growing greens (root remnants of those purchased on a trip to the 5AM Vietnamese Market in New Orleans East, just as the sun began to rise over the soggy morning mist) and basil (from seeds collected in Cincinnati) and Kentucky oregano (a small transplant is courageously growing from an old tin can).

We have created a communal house in New Orleans, based upon concepts of respect and contentiousness and friendship. With more members of the household, we collectively use fewer resources and maximize the potential of shared space.

The emphasis that we placed on lowered consumption and materialism while on our journey has become part of our lifestyle; we recycle water, bicycle more often than not, and bring our own grocery bags everywhere we go. We try to buy only what we need, and resist (I have to work especially hard at this) urges of impulse and instant gratification spending. We try to live with intention, rather than being pushed and pulled and suckered into consumerist behaviors.

Chopsticks are used almost as frequently as forks, and we eat lettuce in our soup.


We have begun to serve as couchsurfing hosts; with each guest that stays with us, I recall the generosity and kindness of those who hosted us during our journey. Faith in humanity and trust in the human spirit is a feeling that can slip away if it is not nourished and encouraged; media and news sources are diligent in combating these positive feelings.

And yet, it all feels so distant. The memories slip further and further away, buried beneath tubes of caulk and glazier points and big rectangles of sheetrock and the last dregs of enamel paint in the can. We speak, as we learned to do on our journey, of the present, of the now, of right here. We dream of the future and craft our plans

With the fullness of the present and the future, there seems to be little time reserved for the past. And yet, it has a sweet and gentle way of slipping tendrils of poignant remembrance, patient contributions, and astute relevance into the evolution of our lives.

Onward we go, as the small, tight circles grow slowly larger.