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Journey East

๐™…๐™ค๐™ช๐™ง๐™ฃ๐™š๐™ฎ ๐™€๐™–๐™จ๐™ฉ- ๐™„๐™ฃ๐™จ๐™ฅ๐™ž๐™ง๐™–๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™Ž๐™–๐™ฃ ๐˜ฟ๐™ž๐™š๐™œ๐™ค, ๐˜พ๐™–๐™ก๐™ž๐™›๐™ค๐™ง๐™ฃ๐™ž๐™– ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™๐™ช๐™˜๐™จ๐™ค๐™ฃ, ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ž๐™ฏ๐™ค๐™ฃ๐™– ๐˜ฟ๐™–๐™ฎ ๐™Š๐™ฃ๐™š

As we drive along Interstate 8 East leaving San Diego through Pine Valley, the snow alongside the road is fresh and ushers us along, inviting us to breathe and lean into the newness.

Julia is on Zoom with her math teacher. Thank goodness for Verizon wireless hotspot!

We make our way down the grade; the white snow turns to golden sand dunes and I am reminded of Californiaโ€™s diverse landscape I love so much. Aside from my beloved people, this, I will miss about Californiaโ€”her snow-covered mountains, redwood forests, breathtaking coast and sandy deserts. I grew up in the hills of Southern California and they shaped me in the best of ways. Spent the last decade in the San Francisco Bay Area where I grew roots in the East Bay and was able to spend a lot of time connecting with the land in Mount Shasta and Lake Tahoe.

Yet, I was born on the east coast and something deep draws me back โ€”a remembering of sorts.

In many surveys, California was ranked as one of the top five states people moved away from in 2021. I can be added to the 2022 list. In some ways, itโ€™s similar to leaving an unhealthy relationship. I release all the sweat, love and tears that I actually did pour into the CA state legislature and into the halls and walls of the state capital in Sacramento where I spent a decade standing ๐˜๐˜–๐˜™ bodily autonomy and health and medical freedom. My decade of heart-centered activism to ensure that all children in California receive a โ€œfree and fair public educationโ€ will never be in vain. Empowered vocalization, bathed in love, is an act of communion with that which is holy, an act of prayer.

I hold in my heart all of the CA health freedom warriors.

As for me and my house, we take a deep inโ€“breath of the spirit (my favorite definition of inspiration) and synchronize with divine guidance.

My 16-year-old son just passed his driverโ€™s license exam last week. Yay! Heโ€™s following behind me in his car and Iโ€™m more than impressed at how well heโ€™s doing. Itโ€™s the first day of this expedition and heโ€™s definitely on the intensive course! There are three cars in our convoy; my car leading the way.

We drive on and on.

The trains out this way crossing the great expanse of land have always fascinated me. They each carry their own story and personality, as do the tall Saguaro cacti. Julia and I talk about how we can feel their aliveness. Several invite us with open arms; another is actually hugging itself, and many more, with arms raised in jubilation. We feel the celebration!

I've experienced a cross country odyssey before, once in this direction east over 20 years ago, and twice in the opposite direction heading west. The Navy offered my family many opportunities over the years to explore this amazing country. I am deeply grateful for those experiences which enriched my life in immeasurable ways.

Though it appears very barren out here, when you take a closer look, through a different lens, the desert is bustling with life. I believe it was Thoreau who said,

"Itโ€™s not what you look at that matters, itโ€™s what you see."

We finally arrive in Tucson, Arizona and while we still have days ahead of us, I rejoice in arriving here and take a conscious step out onto this sandโ€” like a declaration of independence.

We took the first step! I am reminded of what Martin Luther King, Jr. said, โ€œYou donโ€™t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.โ€ Leaving California was no small feat, months in the making and nowโ€ฆall is in motion, a divine plan unfolding. With just a little willingness, we feel the inspiration, set intention, vibrate out to the universe and it echoes back.

In the quiet of the desert, surrounded by a biting February chill, cool wind and silence, I know that Peace is my compass and a new map is being crafted.

๐˜ˆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ด๐˜ฐ ๐˜ช๐˜ต ๐˜ช๐˜ด.

๐™…๐™ค๐™ช๐™ง๐™ฃ๐™š๐™ฎ ๐™€๐™–๐™จ๐™ฉ- ๐™€๐™ญ๐™ฅ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™จ๐™ž๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™๐™ช๐™˜๐™จ๐™ค๐™ฃ, ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ž๐™ฏ๐™ค๐™ฃ๐™– ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™‘๐™–๐™ฃ ๐™ƒ๐™ค๐™ง๐™ฃ, ๐™๐™š๐™ญ๐™–๐™จ ๐˜ฟ๐™–๐™ฎ ๐™๐™ฌ๐™ค

The Saguaro cacti have disappeared. Thich Nhat Hanh said that life is available only in the present moment. If you abandon the present moment, you cannot live the moments of your daily life deeply. Iโ€™m sure glad that I was living, deeply, in the present moment with those magnificent cacti while they lined the interstate.

We breeze through New Mexico; I love their license plates.

As we enter Texas, I hold the yellow walkie-talkie two-way radio to my mouth and in my best Texas drawl report to my dedicated convoy, โ€œWelcome to Texas, All, Yโ€™all.โ€ Thereโ€™s blue sky for miles. We pass through El Paso and the energy constricts as does the traffic. Such as life, eh? At times weโ€™re free flowing and at other times we may feel a little congested.

It feels like we could just reach out and touch Mexico. Somewhere on the other side of El Paso weโ€™re in the vast openness once again. I embrace the adventure, always asking for inner guidance and wisdom to receive the encounters and the experiences meant for meโ€ฆ

My openness to change, to grow, to expand in awareness, is born out of willingness, a willingness to trust a knowing deep within, the willingness to go with the flow โ€” like this freeway.

The speed limit is 80 mph. I donโ€™t often drive 80 mph and so it feels quite fast, but oh- so- free. I begin to wonder if itโ€™s too fast for my new driver tailing close behind, and I slow down. As if reading my mind, I hear the crackle of the two-way radio channel finding its signal, then his voice, he asks if weโ€™re going to speed it upโ€ฆ

We merge into the left lane to pass the semi-trucks 85, 90โ€ฆ

Thereโ€™s something so revitalizing out here. I speak it out loud, โ€œLife, Life, Life, Revitalizing Life!โ€ Those words came alive from something I once read. I think it was Louise Hay or maybe, actually, I do believe it was Catherine Ponder, ๐˜๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜š๐˜ฆ๐˜ค๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ด ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ˆ๐˜จ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด.

Iโ€™m definitely revitalized!


We roll into Van Horn Texas just as the sun is setting and I am aware that simplicity offers deep serenity. As we look in every direction, we find the beautiful sky, marbled in lavender, pink and orange enveloping us.

๐˜ˆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ช๐˜ตโ€™๐˜ด ๐˜ต๐˜ณ๐˜ถ๐˜ฆโ€ฆ

The stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas.

๐™…๐™ค๐™ช๐™ง๐™ฃ๐™š๐™ฎ ๐™€๐™–๐™จ๐™ฉ- ๐™„๐™ฃ๐™ซ๐™ค๐™˜๐™–๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™‘๐™–๐™ฃ ๐™ƒ๐™ค๐™ง๐™ฃ ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™Ž๐™–๐™ฃ ๐˜ผ๐™ฃ๐™ฉ๐™ค๐™ฃ๐™ž๐™ค ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐˜ฝ๐™š๐™–๐™ช๐™ข๐™ค๐™ฃ๐™ฉ, ๐™๐™š๐™ญ๐™–๐™จ

๐˜ฟ๐™–๐™ฎ ๐™๐™๐™ง๐™š๐™š + ๐˜ฟ๐™–๐™ฎ ๐™๐™ค๐™ช๐™ง

We chose to reroute due to inclement weather expected through Dallas. Ice, snow and freezing temps didnโ€™t sound inviting to this astute convoy.

My heart was planted in the DFW area for nearly 5 years in 2003 and I had been looking forward to driving through Nicholasโ€™ place of birth. We made some of the most joyful memories and lifelong friends there. Alas, it wasnโ€™t meant for this voyage, so we adjust the sails and glide down Interstate 10.

One small issue. This is the second day that my tire pressure light has come on. Only this time, it doesnโ€™t turn off. Thankfully I have a co-pilot and she retrieves the ownerโ€™s manual to refresh my memory as to which button will reveal whatโ€™s going on with my psi. Voila, I love this technology! All tire pressure is quite low and can apparently drop due to cold conditions. Weโ€™re about 45 minutes outside of Van Horn and I decide we must stop for air. We locate the first gas station on this stretch of nothingness, two old pumps and I donโ€™t see air. I run inside to inquire. Around the back, we find the air. Yay! Tire blowout averted!

Caravanning through the belly of Texas feels never endingโ€”Texas has an energy of boldness and grit and while I know it can rub some people the wrong way, I truly appreciate the raw and real temperament permeating from within this state.

My mom is along on this expedition with us and Iโ€™m grateful for her flexibility, calm and accepting nature and her willingness to trust the journey with us.

We schedule our breaks around the Loveโ€™s truck stops. Loveโ€™s offers clean bathrooms with many stalls, a wide selection of snacks and emergency items like Q-tips and nail clippers, a dog run and they typically have triple the number of gas pumps of any average gas station. These factors make it possible to have efficient and productive stops. When daily travel time is 6-7 hours, stops can potentially add a considerable amount of time if youโ€™re not mindful!

However, we are!

Each night we check into a hotel and itโ€™s nothing short of amusing. You see, weโ€™re traveling with two leopard geckos, one corn snake and a hyperactive Boxer.

For as much commotion going on, we all remain in pleasant spirits!

The mantraโ€ฆ๐™๐™ง๐™ช๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™…๐™ค๐™ช๐™ง๐™ฃ๐™š๐™ฎ! We keep our eye on the prize (our arrival to our new home state).

I believe that mantras invoke the Divine.

By the time we stop in Houston, Iโ€™ve used my horn more than I have in my entire life. This is surprising to my children who have always encouraged me to use my horn at times, but never would I! Perhaps Iโ€™m getting punchy or maybe the drivers around me are punchy. At any rate, my horn actually does work and itโ€™s not until this evening sitting down to write did I make the connection to Van โ€œHornโ€ Texas. Iโ€™m certain that this doesnโ€™t refer to a car horn, but I canโ€™t help but chuckle.

I typically drink kombucha daily. I havenโ€™t had any since I left San Diego. Though Loveโ€™s has a lot to offer, they lack kombucha.

Loโ€™ and behold, somewhere before Beaumont I see ONE bottle of Synergy kombucha in the refrigerator at Loveโ€™s! I assume itโ€™s a gift from the gods and give my thanks!

We find the register to check out. My tribe places their loot: snacks, drinks and junk food on the counter. The cashier rings everything up and lifts the bottle of kombucha and informs me that she canโ€™t sell it to me. She doesnโ€™t know where it came from. They donโ€™t sell kombucha and donโ€™t have a barcode for it. She must have felt my disappointment as I said, โ€œOh bummer, Iโ€™ve been hoping to find a kombucha and this is about the 8th Loveโ€™s weโ€™ve stopped at and I was so excited.โ€ She said, โ€œAww damn, now I feel badโ€ and she grabbed a can of monster energy drink behind her, scanned the barcode and handed me the fermented tea I had so eagerly craved!

See that, confirmation that angels are everywhere and gifts abound! Albert Einstein was a genius after all, and he said,

โ€œThere are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."

I notice the miracles and trust the journey. I am confident that we will always be guided along to the people, places and positions meant for our goodness and growth.

As we head out of Houston, we cruise along the bridge over the Trinity River and sing along to Allison Kraussโ€™ version of the old spiritual, ๐˜ฟ๐™ค๐™ฌ๐™ฃ ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™๐™ž๐™ซ๐™š๐™ง ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™‹๐™ง๐™–๐™ฎ. โ€œOh People, letโ€™s go down, cโ€™mon down, down to the river to prayโ€ฆโ€

We sweat our prayers, we breath our prayers, we sing our prayers. We become what we behold.

I get goosebumps knowing that my life is a prayer and so is yours. Let us pray for the world because I hear thereโ€™s war in Ukraine and while none of us know the details of why or what is unfolding, what we do know is that innocent people are maimed and killed in the crossfire of power plays.

Iโ€™m pouring my prayer out over the Trinity River knowing that my love โ€” in mind, idea and expression through inspiration, revelation and guidance will find its way to the innocent people of Ukraine, Russia and the world. I see our world healed, returning to wholeness, ascending out of darkness and destruction and into unity and love.

๐˜ˆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ด๐˜ฐ ๐˜ช๐˜ต ๐˜ช๐˜ด.

๐™…๐™ค๐™ช๐™ง๐™ฃ๐™š๐™ฎ ๐™€๐™–๐™จ๐™ฉ- ๐™‘๐™š๐™ฃ๐™š๐™ง๐™–๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐˜ฝ๐™š๐™–๐™ช๐™ข๐™ค๐™ฃ๐™ฉ, ๐™๐™š๐™ญ๐™–๐™จ ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™ˆ๐™ค๐™—๐™ž๐™ก๐™š, ๐˜ผ๐™ก๐™–๐™—๐™–๐™ข๐™– ๐˜ฟ๐™–๐™ฎ ๐™๐™ž๐™ซ๐™š

We pass by, up and over more waterways. Though inside the car it doesnโ€™t feel very fast, Iโ€™m aware that weโ€™re flying along the southernmost interstate in the US. Iโ€™ve become accustomed to this speed. I notice that it only took hours to reroute that neuropathway about speed.

With ease, we breeze into Louisiana, snapping a picture of the state welcome sign, this is our ritual now as we enter each state. Itโ€™s our fifth state; the border is the Sabine River.

Bridge after bridge, we roll on over lakes, rivers and various other swampy inlets.

Weโ€™re driving along the Gulf of Mexico and I open the sunroof to smell the sea. Since leaving Texas, the weather has warmed up considerably.

The speed limit fluctuates and itโ€™s a little tricky to keep up with the inconsistencyโ€ฆ 80, 60, 70, 60, โ€ฆ Nicholasโ€™ voice cuts in over the radio, โ€œwhatโ€™s the speed limit, Mom?โ€ I reply, โ€œI think 70โ€ as I release my foot from the gas pedal because in my rearview mirror, I see the lights of a Louisiana state trooper trailing close behind my son who has been in possession of a driverโ€™s license for only a few days. My first thought, those would be beautiful bright blue lights if they werenโ€™t affixed to the top of a police car trailing us. As my car decelerates back down to the speed limit, I reply into the radio, โ€œHow fast were we going?โ€ Nicholas states in the calmest tone Iโ€™ve ever heard someone speak with lights and sirens behind them, โ€œ90 Mom, nine-tyโ€

Lesson one: ๐˜‹๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏโ€™๐˜ต ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ธ๐˜ข๐˜บ๐˜ด ๐˜ง๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ธ ๐˜”๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ.

I am accepting this moment with grace, because, after all 90 is fast, I lean into my knowing that all people, events and circumstances are a divine appointment, no matter how disguised the appearance. I begin to change lanes and make my way to the right shoulder; Nicholas remains close behind. I think my mom somehow made her way out of this debacle and is now somewhere behind the state trooper.

Either the trooper saw our California plates and didnโ€™t want to deal with these out of state delinquents or he was code 3 and we just happened to be an obstacle in his way.

Whatever the reason, I thanked our travel angels and blessed the state trooper as he flew by! Godspeed, my friend!

I then declare, in case the Universe didnโ€™t hear the first time: ๐—ป๐—ผ ๐˜€๐—ฝ๐—ฒ๐—ฒ๐—ฑ๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ฐ๐—ธ๐—ฒ๐˜๐˜€ ๐—ณ๐—ผ๐—ฟ ๐˜‚๐˜€!


Theyโ€™ve always been a profound, repeating symbol in my life in a multitude of ways. Iโ€™ve also found myself as the bridge in many instances. A bridge can represent a passage or the sharing of ideas, unifying places or people, and bridges increase the range of options. A bridge is a mighty symbol of connection โ€”and hope. The gap between is magical. A great teacher, Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj, said, โ€œThe mind creates the abyss, the heart crosses it.โ€

My heart is crossing over and over and over.

I am connecting with this part of the country through these charming bridges. Crossing the Breaux Bridge, I feel bathed in beauty and I love this stretch between Lafayette and Baton Rouge, through the Atchafalaya Wildlife Refuge, the Atchafalaya River, the Atchafalaya Basin Bridge.

As we head into Baton Rouge, we cross more bridges, all the while I feel weโ€™re weaving our spirit with the land, through timelines, over the Mississippi River, where the stories have been carried along --ever moving energyโ€ฆ

Then, we arrive upon Pearl River where we meet the Louisiana-Mississippi state line. I get on our 3-way radio and announce our sixth state by spelling it out, โ€œWelcome to M-I-SS-I-SS-I-PP-I.โ€

I feel Mississippi, thick with history sunk in the soil of the swampy lands we have entered. I feel the stories springing from the wells of the rivers. We wonder about the gators, and why itโ€™s called Devilโ€™s Swamp.

Iโ€™m someone who canโ€™t evade sensing the stories, tuning in with the land, feeling the ancestors. I canโ€™t deny my role on this planet, though there have been times I have certainly tried.

As we approach the Tchoutacabouffa River, it penetrates me. The riverโ€™s mouth is located just north of the city of Biloxi at Biloxi Bay. Biloxi, Biloxiโ€”I feel compelled to repeat this name. It holds a sacred vibration but Iโ€™m not certain of what it is until we look it up online.

The name Biloxi in French was Bilocci, a transliteration of the term for the local Native American tribe in their language, Siouan. According to Wikipedia, when first encountered by Europeans in 1699, the Biloxi tribe inhabited this area. They were eventually forced west into Louisiana and eastern Texas. The Biloxi language, Tanรชksฤ…yaa ade, has been extinct since the 1930s.

I feel the sensation of this tribe in my soul and take a long, deep inhale, hold it at the apex and reach for just a little more air and then, slow and steady, exhale.

I am a healer, I build bridges. We donโ€™t find our calling, it finds us.

As stated previously, I believe each of our lives are a prayer and we get to be a blessing, healers to all of time and space.I say yes, and so it is.

We meet Alabama for the first time, boy, her accent is unmistakable and her people, so open-hearted.

We arrive on Mardi Gras. Who knew? Well, Mobile, Alabama did!

More tomorrowโ€ฆ

๐™…๐™ค๐™ช๐™ง๐™ฃ๐™š๐™ฎ ๐™€๐™–๐™จ๐™ฉ- ๐™€๐™ฃ๐™˜๐™๐™–๐™ฃ๐™ฉ๐™ข๐™š๐™ฃ๐™ฉ ๐™ˆ๐™ค๐™—๐™ž๐™ก๐™š, ๐˜ผ๐™ก๐™–๐™—๐™–๐™ข๐™– ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™‚๐™ง๐™š๐™š๐™ฃ๐™ซ๐™ž๐™ก๐™ก๐™š,

๐™Ž๐™ค๐™ช๐™ฉ๐™ ๐˜พ๐™–๐™ง๐™ค๐™ก๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™– ๐˜ฟ๐™–๐™ฎ ๐™Ž๐™ž๐™ญ

Weโ€™ll never forget Mobile, the oldest city in Alabama. Iโ€™ve lived coast to coast and visited the south, Savannah, Charleston, a handful of times, but I donโ€™t think Iโ€™ve ever experienced the South until now. The Deep South is a world of its own. I feel like a stranger in a strange land, but warmly welcomed and loved. This Southern hospitality is definitely a real thing.

As I checked into the hotel last night, the gentleman said heโ€™d be remiss not to mention that we rolled in on Mardi Gras. Well, I only know a little of this celebration; Fat Tuesday, party before Lent and, well, inappropriate tales about beads and breastsโ€ฆ

But, hey, weโ€™re here and itโ€™s not too often that I say no to an unexpected adventure.

Though weโ€™re exhausted and it was our longest driving day so far, we rally and get back into the car and drive downtown to Water St.

One of my lifeโ€™s mottos is โ€œ๐ฅ๐ข๐Ÿ๐ž ๐ข๐ฌ ๐š๐ฅ๐ฐ๐š๐ฒ๐ฌ ๐ฐ๐จ๐ซ๐ค๐ข๐ง๐  ๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ ๐Ÿ๐จ๐ซ ๐ฆ๐ž.โ€ In other words, the stars always align.

Another of my lifeโ€™s mottos, โ€œ๊œฑแด‡ส€แด‡ษดแด…ษชแด˜ษชแด›ส ษช๊œฑ แด‡แด แด‡ส€สแดกสœแด‡ส€แด‡.โ€

Never mind that I got whacked in the head with an enormous box of Moon Pies and Julia has a very sore toe, we arrive back at the hotel adorned in shimmery-colored beads and a truly glorious memory for the books. It ended up a very late night!

It was the adventurous Amelia Earhart who said, โ€œBy adventuring about, you become accustomed to the unexpected. The unexpected then becomes what it really is...the inevitable.โ€

I am so grateful that my mom is with us, sheโ€™s the one who taught me, modeled for me, how to live and love life, embracing the unexpected and living the inevitable mystery.

And so, we woke a little lateโ€”the fun was worth it! Although weโ€™ve passed through two time zones, our bodies are still in tune with the west coast clock.

We set off. Today, we head north, all the way to Greenville.

We enter Georgia, our eighth state on this trek. Julia immediately notices the rust colored โ€œGeorgia clay.โ€ She said, โ€œI know weโ€™re close to Greenville now.โ€ The red colored soil that is so evident in Georgia is due primarily to iron oxides. South Carolina is known for its abundance of this โ€œGeorgia Red Clay.โ€

I am thankful, once again, for the wireless hotspot. Julia carries on over Zoom with her math teacher as we cruise up Interstate 85. At this moment, I embrace the words of Arthur Clarke, โ€œAny sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.โ€

Is it just me or does everyone notice license plates? Iโ€™m somewhat enthralled by the rainbow of states that have been represented. As we grew closer to the east coast, I noticed the increase in variety. Now, Iโ€™ve counted at least 10 different states in the last hour.

New Mexico still remains my favorite license plate; bright turquoise or bright yellow with the sacred sun symbol of the Zia tribe. The Zia sun symbol represents the Circle of Life, no beginning and no end: the four cardinal directions, the four seasons of the year, the four cardinal light phenomena (dawn/white, midday/blue, evening twilight/yellow, and night/black), the four seasons of life (childhood, youth, middle age, and old age). Then there's the four elements: earth - air - fire - water, four lunar phases...the sacred number four reveals itself in so many other traditions too.

A reminder that all aspects of life are a sacred ceremony. Life is a sacred ceremony.


Turns out that LA traffic has competition and itโ€™s here in Atlanta. We were planning to stop to eat lunch at the Slutty Vegan, but weโ€™ve lost so much time crawling along, we decide to press on. Besides, our new home is only about two hours from Atlanta, so I know weโ€™ll be back.

Somehow in the cluster of chaos, we lose our caboose on the interstate. After about an hour, we reunite immediately outside of the city. This is the first time our faithful convoy gets separated. Considering how many hours weโ€™ve spent on the road; I am grateful for the ease of this road trip.

Weโ€™re on the home stretch, paying close attention now that the sun is going down, since we don't want to miss our last welcome sign, the ninth and final state, culminating our journey east.

Soon, in the dark of this new night, there it is. The map marks the Savannah River which silently proclaims the Georgia-South Carolina state line, and the simple blue welcome sign heralds us in.

The state motto: Dum Spiro Spero, translation from Latin, ๐˜ž๐˜ฉ๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ ๐˜‰๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ, ๐˜ ๐˜๐˜ฐ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ.

I notice my breath, breathing me, my heart full of hope and I bring the little yellow walkie-talkie radio to my mouth, press the button and announce to my beloved convoy, โ€œWelcome to South Carolina, weโ€™re home.โ€

Cheers to new beginnings! xoxo -a

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