For a while there I was concerned that the trip might fall through. Suddenly, small things that were actually big things began to fall apart, like hidden potholes caving under our tires. If we had tires. The van has been a whole other issue. How much space do we really have for five people, tents, backpacks, ground pads, and what not?
<— Oh, and how dangerous is it really to put food in your bag?
I still need to look more into what I am going to be able to do at each National Park. Jared keeps asking me which park I am most excited to visit and I keep telling him that I don’t know enough about the parks to decide. He is really excited to sleep on the Great Sand Dunes. I told him that anywhere there are stars, I am excited to camp. Boston gets so lonely without those self-validating stars. It seems backwards to think about seeing the stars and feeling significant. Isn’t something that big supposed to make me feel small? But when I see the stars I feel like I am being watched over. Sometimes, when I’m in the city at night, I’ll shut off all my lights, sit on the window sill, and squint. Suddenly, all the colorful lights of Boston become a rainbow of twinkling stars. And I make wishes on all the falling headlights.
Sometimes, even when things seem unfixable and impossible to manage, if we wait a few days, problems work themselves out. Then I wonder what was the point? We should just sit back and look at our city of stars more often and wait for our dreams to be answered.