I went missing from the internet last week. Packed my things, warm-weather clothes because I hadn’t yet put them away, despite the fact that the Northeast has already seen snow and freezing temperatures (even the air conditioning unit is still in the window. I am so very behind.) I took a plane to Texas, a place I’d never been, to explore and celebrate the wedding of a very good friend.
I like to be prepared for things but it has been a whirlwind few weeks (months?) so I did nothing for this trip. No research. I forgot to rent a car. Packed all the wrong clothes. Wore a wrinkled dress two sizes too big for the wedding. Its a wonder I didn’t inadvertently flash anyone.
So when our plane landed, all I knew of Texas were the songs inside me. Amarillo By Morning and If It Wasn’t For Texas (George Straight). I kept my eye out for Austin city limit signs, suns high in a Texas sky. Thought about bucking at the county fair. I sang loud and long in the car about the San Antonio Rose. Made Tyler drive to Luckenbach, Texas so I could get Back to the Basics of Love (Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson.)
And, as it turned out, I needed no plan. I needed only to wander, to take a listen, to give a look. Aqua pools carved out into white rock. Dry land that stretched out beneath blue sky. Rivers sneaking lazily through a city. Three dollar beers in dark jazz joints. Fingers skipping over piano keys. The loud thwack of the bass.
And all the songs I knew, the only part of these places I could know, were right. All of them creeping like the sigh of the wind, moving the way a person might mosey instead of walk.
Everything I got is just what I got on. And it does seem that’s all I needed. Not much more.