PAgent’s Progress

Strange Trip continued…

Waking up in Gillette, Wyoming, I was a very long way away from the Pacific Northwest, and any place that I’d called “home” for the last 15 years. I was checking into a different motel room every night, and all I had waiting for me in Illinois was a huge question mark. I think the reality of the situation was starting to get to me.

As was the summer heat. An hour or so after I left Gillette, the radio announced that it was 8:30 am, and 85 degrees in Rapid City, South Dakota. Good God. 85 degrees?? At 8:30 am? My Mazda did not have air conditioning, and since the back of the wagon was packed right up to the back of my head, even opening the windows didn’t produce much of a breeze. I was spending most of each day soaking wet.

But most of all, I think that not having a place that was “mine” was beginning to get to me. I’ve always had strong connections to places. Particularly if it’s someplace I’ve lived for a while, I develop an attachment to the town, the neighborhood, and the house. I mean, I used to get teary packing up my dorm room at the end of a school year.

Now that I’m older and somewhat wiser, I’m convinced that this is a product of my introversion, at least in the Myers-Briggs personality typology sense of introversion.

Introverts need to have a personal space; a place where they can relax, and restore their energy. I think that because an introvert’s home is their refuge from the outside world outside, we can get very emotionally attached. And in my case, I think that NOT having any kind of personal space (apart from sitting behind the wheel) was becoming more and more stressful in itself.

This stress was manifesting itself as a desire to just get the damn trip over with. I wanted to get to Urbana, find someplace to live, and get ON with it. And that’s why, as I drove east on I-90 and saw the distinctive monolith of Devil’s Tower north of me, I didn’t stop to see it. And why I didn’t swing a little bit south once I entered South Dakota to see Mt. Rushmore. Looking back, I can’t believe I didn’t slow down a little, and see the sights. After all, I may never get another opportunity. But at the time, it seemed REALLY important to just keep moving.

I covered quite a bit of ground that day, crossing all of South Dakota, and getting halfway across the base of Minnesota. When I stopped for the night, it was at some motel off the freeway, I think somewhere near the intersection of I-90 and I-35. I honestly don’t remember.

But I DO remember being completely exhausted, totally overheated, and utterly strung-out. I was tired of this trip, and I wanted it to be over. I’d get to Urbana the next day, or perish in the attempt.

To be continued…