You may in the privacy of the heart take out the album of your own life and search it for the people and places you have loved and learned from yourself, and for those moments in the past-- many of them half forgotten--through which you glimpsed, however dimly and fleetingly, the sacredness of your own journey.
My journey of self-discovery and hope had taken me to places I thought I could no longer travel, both in the real and in the metaphoric sense. I had fought my way up rugged terrain, out of the pit which was clinical depression. Even though I teeter sometimes on the brink of that deep hole, occasionally losing my footing for a time, I try to remain on the high ground. My journey out was too difficult to chance the trip again.
As for more tangible trips, I had traveled to Boston and Maine with my family and my IV antibiotic bag. I had traveled, alone with my daughter Jennifer to the outer edges of Prince Edward Island and found peace as we drove our rental car around the island, going to the western cliffs of the remote Acadian country overlooking the...Yes, I had traveled far.