My backyard is plagued with Clematis Vitalba, also known as Old Man's Beard or Traveler's Joy. For a brief moment, the flowers open in a profusion of white, but mostly the vine is persistent and invasive, growing so heavily that it breaks branches of the trees it envelops. It's clear why it's called Old Man's Beard: as the flowers turn to seeds, they become puffballs that grow increasingly scraggly as the fall wears on. I haven't determined whether the name Traveler's Joy comes from the fact that the seeds disperse widely, or that the vines grow so quickly over everything, or that the plant seems to travel underground - when I pull it up by the roots, I trace along my fence line to the next plant, as though it's rhizomatic. It grows natively in English hedgerows, though, so I suspect that some people have been happy to see it; particularly those who didn't need to take care that it didn't overwhelm their gardens, but could perhaps shelter under its thick cloak for a night.
On moving to Portland last winter and early spring, I had this amazing sense of momentum, excitement, openness. I would meet people everywhere on my travels, and I wanted to carry that through into my daily life in my new city, and I did, for a while. Months later, I've just had a refresher course in what that openness feels like. This, I think, is something that should really be called Traveler's Joy. What is it made of? How do we feel it?
As the many friends I've made traveling will attest, there's spontaneity at the heart of it. I set out in my travels with a clear path, many pilgrimage sites, a few milestones, and a return ticket all prepared. Things were never set in stone, though - I gave myself permission to skip Notre Dame, I stayed extra days with a lover in Switzerland, I knew I could change my return ticket if I changed my mind. Life would not derail if I followed the path I hadn't known I wanted to take until I came upon it, rather than the one for which I'd prepared.
Permission to deviate led naturally to a curious happiness with unexpected travel "problems." Given that I knew this was all an adventure, and one that would be fascinating no matter if I made it to the next stop or if I stopped and just lived wherever I missed the train, I could revel in the unknown of travel delays, road blocks, and technical problems. These were not inefficiencies, these were the main event. How would I have met my lover, if not for a broken cell phone that miraculously fixed itself the next day? I wouldn't have absorbed that valley and those mountains without him there to keep me past my expected stay. Long lines became great opportunities to look and listen carefully to what was happening around me, and to meet fellow travelers. Wrong turns led to places that, like reading the book next to the one you were looking for on the shelf, provided depth and context and sometimes a treat better than the one I was searching out. All of these moments built to great gratitude that the adventure continued.
Last week/weekend's reminder of this came from two directions. Struggling with today's birthday, I reread "It's Not You: The 27 (Wrong) Reasons You're Single." I don't recall how I found this book, other than probably the NYTimes, but I can say that despite the title, it's a pretty excellent book about life and love and the complications of our modern expectations. I was in Chapter 24, wherein the author, Sara Eckel, talks about Loving-Kindness, when I realized that this is the natural mindset and daily meditation of the traveler. When you give yourself permission to follow either the prescribed or unanticipated path; when you give yourself over to loving the moment for what it is, rather than where it might get you; when you build gratitude with every tick of the clock you're still on the ride; then you also remember to love all those around you, even and especially those you don't know. It's easy, at that point, to look at a stranger and know that they are also living in the same world, with things that go wrong and things that go right, happinesses and sadnesses and eases and tensions. When you get to that recognition, you can't help but love them, and I believe that love is felt, and I know it's more frequently returned when it is more freely given.
Friday I played golf for the first time in my life. Learning new skills is like traveling - it's an adventure in which you must relinquish some control in order to move anywhere. I left my keys at work, and had to go far out of the way to retrieve them - I was reminded to appreciate the ride, rather than rue the detour. I conversed deeply and lightly, and sat through silences with a new friend. And then, when the evening should have stopped, I offered a minor generosity and stepped into a swift river of connection, twisting though unforeseen banks. I was reminded that in even more practical terms, eye contact, vulnerable sharing and intimacy, and appreciation develop directly into those moments of intense connection, those times when we feel we're seeing and being seen by others.
Why did I start this essay with Clematis, other than the name (which, I'll admit, was the main reason)? I wonder to what extent we have to loose commitment in order to gain connection, and to what extent we limit our ability to develop a deeper reciprocity without it. I know that loosing the weight of further acquaintance frees me to be more fully with someone in the moment of meeting them. Discarding the duties of life gives me the time to appreciate the detours. I know less about the other side of the equation. My Clematis is committed to my garden, though, and I come back to it again and again. I clear it out - one less thing to deal with - for a few weeks. Then it returns. With vigor that might appear to be rage, I cut it back, yank it off the fence, tear it out of the ground. But the more I pull it, the more I appreciate how strong it is, how deep it's sent roots, how wide it's grown. It's not a practice if it doesn't take some work.
As usual, I've gotten to the end of an essay and I'm not sure it's where I wanted to be. Of course, in the multitude of possible worlds, this is the one I'm in, and this is what I've written, and it's late and I'm not in the mood to edit it, so I'm posting. I'll give myself permission to come back and change it if need be.