The Road To Ensenada is a beautiful song. It’s melancholy yet hopeful, and I play it to remind myself of a short time when all that mattered was being in Mexico to study rocks. No deadlines, no accountability, no place to be at any particular time, few people and no stress. The only thing that would have made the experience truly exemplary is the absence of my field assistant, but he, too, had his role in my safety and peace of mind. There are days when I wish D and I could pack up the truck and drive down to the tip of Baja California to do absolutely nothing but stare at the sea before heading into our camp in the mountains. Only this time, the rock hammer, field notebook and sample bags will be left behind.
Where will I leave these things behind and how long will/can I be gone? While Loki contemplates death in the murder and crime capital of the United States where people are killed in front of broken crime cameras which we probably aren’t done paying for, I wonder about the nature of home and where mine is. Science fiction geeks, we both turn to the sage advice of Babylon 5, he to the Narn named G’Kar, me to Captain John Sheridan. In Season Five’s Objects At Rest, Sheridan says to his unborn son, David, “At times, you may end up far away from home. You may not be sure of where you belong anymore. But home is always there. Because home is not a place. It’s wherever your passion takes you.”
I guess what Sheridan is trying to say is stop worrying because where I am now is home based on a passionate choice and that home to come will be decided similarly. But, in a world where many cannot afford to live according to their passions, I have plenty. Which one will it be? My husband is my #1 priority and we stick together no matter what, but what about everyone and everything else? Mother and father? Friends? Geoscience? A cosmopolitan city? Which one trumps all? Which one will make D both and me feel the most at home with each other and ourselves?
It’s like asking what is truth and what is god. We don’t have an answer and likely never will. Yet, we ask, move on a bit and ask again.