Battered Suitcases
“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.” -Jack Kerouac
Whenever I’m in trouble, I hit the road. Whether that’s a long, scenic drive to clear my head, and figure out my next move, or to hop on a plane and fly to another country. Drives, where I sing and cry; both at the top of my lungs while I drive away my sorrows. Or, flights where I can watch the world from above; where I can make wishes on the clouds I pass by, on my way to wherever I'm going, or from wherever I am returning.
My first flight and first international trip was in 2017. I had just medically released from the military with a broken brain and back, and a lot of existential baggage that needed unpacking. I figured, the best way to unpack those battered suitcases, was to pack new ones; to unpack in a different country. So, out of the blue, I bought a plane ticket to Ireland, and was on a plane to Dublin, less than a week later.
From Dublin, I hopped on a bus that took me the two hours to Belfast, where I had booked accommodations in an AirBnB, in the university quarter. After a two hour delay, leaving the Toronto airport, a seven hour flight, and a two hour bus ride, I arrived in Belfast exhausted but hungry; for food and for something to feed my soul. I checked into my accommodations, unpacked my suitcases and then went looking for something to eat. What I found, was a local pub, where I ended up beginning and ending each day, throughout that trip; and where I eventually unpacked some of my existential baggage that I'd taken this trip to unpack, in the first place.
My Belfast, and Northern Ireland experience was and will always be a very special one for me. It was my first international trip, and my first time travelling alone. I learned a lot about myself, and learned a lot about NI, while there, as well. Not only did I meet some interesting people, but I also got educated in "The Troubles"; from both perspectives and, both sides of the wall. An educational experience, I later learned, had the potential of being a dangerous but priceless experience, at the same time.
Through lighter conversations with the same people; local Belfast folk, I also, got to visit and experience some pretty incredible sights; like Giant's Causeway, and the Dark Hedges, and other filming locations from, "Game of Thrones". I got to walk across the rope bridge; thousands of feet above the ocean, at Carrick-a-Rede, and to have a pint in a pub in Ballycastle. I drank real, Irish pints in real Irish pubs, and ate authentic Irish foods. And, I got to check off a very big and very important, bucket list item, simply by travelling to Ireland, in the first place.
An action that later fuelled my love for travel, and need to explore more of the UK. I also, got to meet up with my daughter, who was in Ireland on an agricultural exchange, at the time. There's nothing like going to meet your daughter for a pint, in Ireland. We also, unknowingly ended up in a Catholic-owned pub that was 'locked down' at a certain time, on certain nights. When we asked about why this was happening, and why we couldn't leave, we were assured that it was okay; we were safe, but that it had been bombed in the past, and they were just taking precautions. Yet, another way to learn about the area; a wee bit scary, at the moment, but a good lesson, all the same. Turns out, this experience was ultimately reflective of the entire trip.
Since then, I've taken twenty flights; including having returned to Belfast, and to the pub where all of my learning, and my thirst for knowledge and love for travel really began. Every one of the flights, and ensuing trips, have had the same cathartic effect on me, and inspired creativity in the same way that my long drives had in the past; before I started travelling. I have worked out most of the dramas and traumas of my past several years on the road, behind the wheel of my car, in the air, and on foreign soil.
Sometimes because I had no choice, but to travel. Like, when I was commuting to and from army bases to home and back regularly – seven hours here and back, four hours there and back, every weekend or every second week. Sing-crying and scream-singing to work out my frustration, dramas and traumas. I put 100,000 kms on my Volkswagen Rabbit in one year, alone. Back and forth to Petawawa until my husband asked for a divorce, and then as a way of coping while I was stuck in Petawawa or ‘home’, in Brockville without him.
Since then, I’ve put a lot of kms on my car, a lot of miles in the air, and, on my heart and mind; on this 'road'. I’ve put some pretty hefty odometer readings on my vehicles and worked out some pretty hefty dilemmas, bullshit and chaos on this road. This road and I are so in tune with one another that I could drive it with my eyes closed. I’ve worked out some pretty big things on all of the roads I've travelled upon. And for some reason I don’t know where to go but the road anymore.
Sometimes, because I had baggage to unpack; battered suitcases, full of all of the things that had been hard in my life, and that had made me falter. Things, that could be worked out anywhere but home; bags that needed unpacking in a far off land, in a place where I could see that my troubles were nowhere as dramatic as others' troubles. They needed to be unpacked in a place, where I could learn about other peoples troubles, but still see and experience beauty and growth, resulting from them. Where I could meet people much stronger than even I; even being, the tenacious fighter that I am. Where I could hear their stories of struggles and conflict, and how they had risen above, or fought through these difficulties. And, where I could see that the baggage that I had to unpack, wasn't as bad as it seemed; wasn't even comparable to what these people had experienced over the course of several decades. I can’t settle or stay in one place permanently now, because the road and I are old friends. I have to travel and explore now.
Now, I’ve got the planes, trains and other automobiles, as well. The journey, itself being a part of the healing process and part of the discovery. The destination, also where I sort through emotions, losses and traumas, and where I learn about other's troubles, as well. I did that in Ireland the first time I went. I did it again in Wilmington last year, after a big rejection. And, I did it again this year when I went to Scotland. The road, in these cases being flights over the Atlantic.
My tires on every stretch of pavement I could find, both in Canada, in the US and the UK. My feet on the ground of so many different towns, cities, provinces and countries. My toes in the sand on so many beaches and my heart, travelling along in my battered suitcases everywhere I went. My suitcases, battered from the wear and tear of travel, just as my heart and mind, from the wear and tear of life; and I’d become the Queen of the road. I was okay with that. It was proof that, despite everything I'd been through in the past few years, I had dared to take this journey and hit the road to help in my healing. Proof that, I’d dreamed, dared, adventured and lived. That I'd begun my healing journey and that the journey, itself was exactly what I needed to see my troubles in a different light. The travel was what I needed to unpack these battered suitcases; that I needed the road to show me how.