If ... Then ...

On this grey northeastern day, complete with actual slush (slush!) falling from the sky, I once again reminded myself of the adventure I've been on these last five years. And the adventures yet to come. 

Everything ties together in unexpected ways, like a giant, never-ending logic problem. It's only with the benefit of hindsight ... and four to six months of winter ... that the patterns become clear.

If I had been content with my semi-predictable office job, then I never would have jumped into a less-predictable office job.

If I had found that less-predictable office job totally fulfilling, then I never would have gone in search of a master's degree.

If I'd been denied access to the MFA program at King's, then I never would have had the courage to go into solo work, nor would I have given myself the time to start working on the book that continues to take shape.

If I hadn't been working on the book, then I would have missed the opportunity to learn so many details about stories I'd known in general for a lifetime, or to make so many friends and writing allies, or to fall in love with a beautiful Canadian city on the edge of an island on the edge of North America.

If I hadn't gone into solo work, then I wouldn't have been free to take on a harebrained research idea at the conclusion of my studies.

If I hadn't pursued that harebrained idea, then I wouldn't have realized how much stuff I'd collected through the years, or how much I needed a fresh start, or how cathartic three months and a car full of necessities could be.

If I hadn't spent three months driving around the country, then I wouldn't have realized that North Dakota is stunning, or that eastern Montana looks like Nevada, or that Idaho tries to kill Eastern drivers, or that I have bridge and cliff issues, or that SFU has an on-campus hotel, or that Seattle is super-hilly, or that the Oregon coast is the most relaxing place in the world, or that California's not the same without Grandpa Mel, or that beat-up pickup trucks and cowboy hats can be accompanied by country or Tejano and they're still just right.

If I hadn't had to balance work and research and driving and planning, then I wouldn't have had to find a way to avoid southern California at the same time I avoided a diagonal swath of overpriced eclipse lodgings.

If I hadn't decided on Tehachapi and Laughlin and Flagstaff, then I never would have found my way to the one place in the country that I had no particular desire to go.

If I hadn't spent a week in the oldest new place I'd ever been, then I never would have realized that Albuquerque feels like a place I've always known.

If I hadn't been enchanted by Albuquerque, then I wouldn't have had such a great visit with an old new friend, or met a new new friend with whom I share old new friends, or spent all one day baking in the blazing sunshine amid flora and fauna and a fantastic zoo train.

If one of my old new friends hadn't been taken down by the heat, then I wouldn't have been wandering around plazas and patios by myself late on a Sunday afternoon, which made all the difference. 

If I hadn't left Albuquerque, then I wouldn't have cruised across the open grassland of Texas and Oklahoma, or stumbled across the Ozarks where I did not expect to find them, or arrived outside Chicago wishing to be literally anywhere else.

If my contact for the Chicago conference hadn't been translating for displaced neighbors in the middle of a hurricane in Houston, then I never would have realized how out of place I truly was.

If I hadn't felt so out of place, then I never would have shared a table with a lovely family at IKEA, who restored my faith in basic courtesy with smiles and quick translations.

If I hadn't wanted to avoid the awkwardness of conference programs, then I wouldn't have been able to experience a late summer sunset at the Mother Temple of the West.

If I hadn't needed to kill time before my next scheduled interviews, then I wouldn't have spent a week in Nashville.

If I hadn't been in Nashville, then I couldn't have caught up with one of my favorite childhood pals, nor stumbled into two of the most delightful and useful research interviews of the whole trip.

If I hadn't completed those interviews, then I couldn't have taken the backroads through the grassland and mountains of Tennessee and Kentucky and Virginia.

If I hadn't stopped for three days in a mountain hotel in Virginia, then I wouldn't have met my deadlines and I wouldn't have gotten sick.

If I hadn't gotten sick, then I would have been much more fun wandering the battlefields in the Virginia Piedmont and visiting friends in DC and I wouldn't have been so afraid that I might have infected my interview subjects in DC and Philadelphia (as well as my wonderfully welcoming hostess).

If I hadn't spent the next six weeks in familiar territory, then I couldn't have realized that I needed to get my ducks in a row before changing everything altogether.

If I hadn't found a place to sit still and get things done this winter, then I couldn't be planning for my next small adventure right now, reading calendars of events forwarded by a new new friend, comparing travel plans with an old new friend, crossing important tasks off my lists, thinking about coffee options, and counting down days. 

And if I wasn't doing all of that, then I couldn't be clicking through Trulia and planning my next big adventure ... in a place that sees far fewer grey days and nearly never experiences slush falling from the sky.