All Good Things Must Come to an End

Or so the saying goes. And in reality, it is true. Knowing this doesn't make life all the easier, particularly after a week spent in a beautiful country enjoying the company of three great fellow adventurers and challenging myself both mentally and physically. So, in my typical fashion, I began mourning the loss before things were even over. And it is with this post I bring my musings on my trip to an end, leaving my memories behind for the time being and moving forward to wherever life takes me next...

The final day of our tour was to be the most challenging hike (at least it ended up taking the most time of all the other hikes and I at least was running on fumes energy-wise) up to the top of Mt. Ucka. I wasn't ready to move on. Partially, I knew saying good-bye put me all the closer to returning home, back to a reality with which I had been struggling a lot previous to my trip. I still had two days of travel ahead of me (my solo trip up to Slovenia), but the heart of my vacation was about to end. I also knew that in some ways, as Marty, Tom, Davor, and I went our separate ways, the spell would be broken and the friendship and camaraderie we had experienced during this week would be challenged by time and distance. Would we remain in touch as we had promised or would our time together transform into nothing more but fond memories we share with whomever is willing to listen? Previous experiences had made me skeptical, but I remain encouraged that this will not happen this time around.

Our Final Destination

So, while I began the day with a smile on my face and ready to face the world, the higher we climbed, the bleaker my attitude became. Despite enjoying cherries pulled directly from the tree and wild strawberries full of flavor, a bright blue sky, and majestic views, my attitude gradually soured. My head was filled with thoughts of looming decisions, unresolved issues, and letting go. I found myself lingering, falling behind the group to put more distance physically between myself  and the others in some twisted attempt to add distance emotionally, convincing myself doing so would make it easier to get on the train the next day.

(Some of you may have noticed this, but I hate saying good-bye. If given the choice, I would head out unnoticed without any acknowledgement or fuss. There have been several times in my life that I have left without so much as a word, telling only a few select people, and then slipping away.)

I didn't succeed in making myself tangential that day. It really is hard to do when there are only four of you, and even in this short time, the others recognized something was bothering me. As we hunkered down atop the peak, trying to find some shelter from the chilling wind, we talked about the next steps in our journey. For Tom and Marty, it was a trip to Split to visit with their son and then down along the coast to Dubrovnik with stops along the way. For Davor, a day's rest before embarking on his next tour. For me Slovenia, and then, who knows? I had mentioned my current quandary regarding what I was doing with my life, and their kind words and support about what lay ahead were almost enough to make me cry (I really was a bit on edge this last day...and their compassion made me realize just how much more difficult it would be the next day).

So, I vowed as we descended to stop my foolishness and to embrace the time left instead of shutting myself completely down. I admit to falling behind yet again as we climbed down, but this time instead of unbidden thoughts about what was to come, strains of music flooded my mind in an attempt to distract myself from my seemingly inevitable slide down the mountain. Of all the hikes, this was the steepest downhill path, and I was quite nervous...scared even if I were to be honest. I have to say, singing to yourself works wonders!  I got down without falling once, and outside of a few blisters (my first of the entire trip), I managed to emerge unscathed.

Still, at the end of the hike, I was sad. It was pretty much over, and while the others had a lot to look forward to, I wasn't feeling quite in the same position. Slovenia beckoned, but its call wasn't as alluring as it had been when I first booked that leg of the trip. (This was perhaps my first inclination ever that traveling by oneself can indeed get lonely.) And too soon after that, I would be back in Kansas City and then heading to a quick trip to Texas that I was dreading. Reality loomed far too heavily in front of me, but somehow, I managed to push it away from my mind that evening. Our last meal together was another delicious offering, and I indulged in a couple of beers to celebrate a week's worth of successful adventures. For once, I was focused on what was, not what was to come.

While Marty bowed out early that evening, Tom, Davor, and I lingered at the table, and even sought out somewhere else to go after dinner was finished. Strangely enough, there is not a whole lot open (ok

I was up early (no surprises there), and I was packed and ready to go in no time. I tried to kill more time before heading downstairs because I had the feeling I would be alone for breakfast, but I couldn't focus on my writing or anything else, so I made my descent. My instincts proved to be accurate, so I ate my meal alone. I waited for about 45 minutes to see if anyone else would be along, and when that didn't happen, I went upstairs to check I had everything for about the tenth time. The rest of the morning passed in a blur of anxiety and sadness on my part. I felt silly feeling so emotional, which in turn made me adopt the distant air from the day before. When the others had finished their breakfasts, and we had loaded into the van, we drove to Rijeka.

The bus station was our first stop. Tom and Marty were buzzing with energy, their excitement to see their son not at all inhibited by the prospect of an eight-hour bus ride, and amid their enthusiasm, it was impossible not to smile for them. Before they made their way to the ticketing area, though, they made sure to get a picture of all us together. And then, in a flurry of activity, there were hugs and promises and perhaps a few tears, and it was time for them to go. These things always seem to happen so quickly it takes me a long time to process what had occurred. I hopped back into the van, not looking forward to the next good-bye either. I had even considered asking Davor which direction to head and offer to walk instead of being dropped off to save him the trip in order to endure yet another good-bye.

When we did get to the train station, I found myself unsure what to say. With Tom and Marty, I had taken a moment to write a short letter expressing just how much it meant to me to share this vacation with them. I couldn't find the right words to do the same for Davor, and despite my hopes that I would suddenly be blessed with something to say, I made a muddled attempt to express my gratitude and appreciation for everything. I don't remember what I said, but I have the distinct impression it was garbled and awkward, and I felt a little embarrassed by it. I wanted it over as quickly as possible, so with a final smile and a quick hug, I grabbed my bags and headed into the station. Another chapter closed, and I was back to being super-independent solo traveler, but with a little more hesitance in my step and questions in my mind about the value in being SO independent.

And here, I close the chapter to this year's big adventure, returning to my quiet, unexciting life of spreadsheets and proofreading, books and blogs, solitary evenings and weekends. After a month of this, I am feeling the urge to shake things up. Stay tuned...perhaps things will change.