Yet To Be Written

Bus Blog

When I first began blogging, my lengthy commute limited my writing time, so I decided to leave my car behind a couple days a week and take the bus (three buses, actually) and use the time (double the time actually) to put ideas onto my little, antiquated netbook.  I needed to remember to plug it in and charge it the night before, and I needed to be up in the darkness to catch the first bus, so I could catch the second bus, so I could catch the third bus to make it to work on time.  It certainly wasn’t a glamourous start to my blogging voyage, but I wanted to commit to sharing my travel adventures with the world, or with no one, depending on who might read or follow along.

With Emptied Nest Adventures followed by PamPortland.org, I reach three hundred posts exactly – some fiction, most non-fiction – all of which, post by post, have helped me remember the details of my travels.  I’ve seen all fifty states, and if I said each on tells a story, I would have stopped blogging two hundred and fifty posts ago.  As a fellow writer pointed out this week, if you subscribe to a magazine, you notice it’s not uncommon for the missive to cover the same topic more than once.  True, and in fairness, I’ve been to some states more than once, and Project Fifty means more than just fifty adventures.

Waiting In The Darkness

So imagine I’m sitting on the bus.  It’s late – after 19:00 – and I’m still commuting home.  I’ve spent the last few hours of my day, as well as a couple hours this morning, brainstorming topics based on places I’ve traveled.  The list so far includes the first time I sailed to Alaska (see Shared By Bears And Coeds from January 2012) and when we dined on the moat wall in the Dry Tortugas (see Changes in Rank from January 2013), but I want to share more than just a “Been There, Done That,” list.  I want to tell stories, share viewpoints, and create experiences that make each location memorable to me.  I am feeling overwhelmed by this list and daunted by the prospect of how long my ideas can last.  Or how long I can tolerate five to six hours a day on a city bus.

The prospects still roll around in my mind the next day and into another long night, as I drive down the road after the dusk.  To my left, I see four women outside a darkened brick entrance, three in matching dresses, and one adorned in white, reflecting the lone street light on the next block.  The women help to arrange and straighten her dress.  When those doors open, she will be illuminated, standing there in all her once-in-a-lifetime glory.  Until that moment, she and her three closest friends stand in the dark, because by 18:00, the sun has already set, and her wedding hasn’t even begun.  Her entire future is yet to be written.  I wish her three hundred posts, but that’s just for starters.

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