Happy Independence Day, Kenya!

After a lazy morning of reading under the mosquito net, we get ready to go to the beach. Nina has bought fruit to make salad, so we pack up the food and stop by the bakery on the way. A tuk-tuk drops us on a white sand beach sprinkled with a few Europeans and a few locals who want to take us snorkeling at the coral reefs. We decline and instead walk a mile down the beach, seeking shade. The afternoon is spent in the surf and on the sand, reading. I'm reading Dervla Murphy's "Full Tilt: Dunkirk to Delhi by Bicycle." While occasionally looking out at the Indian Ocean, I absorb Dervla's travel tales. She rode her bicycle from Ireland to Delhi in the winter of 1963. Alone. At the age of 31. Amazing. Here I am on the coast of Africa, having traveled safely by bus and train and matatu, yet reading about a woman who braved extreme cold and heat to peddle across Europe and into Persia and Afghanistan and Pakistan. She saw the giant Buddha statues in Afghanistan, those destroyed by the Taliban, which no one will ever get to see again, except in photos. Making her story more poignant is the year Dervla attempted this trip, the year I was born, 1963. She writes that on her 10th birthday, she received a bicycle and a map. Dreaming over the map, she had the idea to take the tremendous trip to India. But Dervla never told anyone, for sharing her vision might diminish its power. 21 years later, she makes the trip on a bicycle named "Roz" with a .25 in her hip pocket. And it didn't take long on her trip before she had to use the gun! Now, 42 years later, I'm reading her story, admiring her courage and feeling inspired. Dervla has written several books, many out of print, and I'd love collect them all. The ones listed in this edition are: The Waiting Land: A Spell in Nepal In Ethiopia with a Mule On a Shoestring in Coorg: An Experience of Southern India Where the Indus is Young: A Winter in Baltistan A Place Apart: Northern Ireland Wheels Within Wheels: Autobiography (of especial interest!!!) Race to the Finish?: The Nuclear Stakes Eight Feet in the Andes Muddling Through in Madagascar Ethiopia is in my current neighborhood and on my list of anticipated places to visit, as is Madagascar. Ed asked me once where my wanderlust came from. After taking a few minutes to admire the word "wanderlust," I had to take more time to think about his question. Where does this wanderlust come from? My Mom seems to have recognized my love of travel years ago. She, too, has always enjoyed traveling. Maybe it came from her. And maybe it waited, latent, until my children were grown, so I would leave them to explore the world without guilt. Of course, I still feel guilty about being away from Jaime and James, no matter how great my perceived contributions to other parts of the world. My love for my children is always deep and sometimes desperate. My mind and heart is frequently pulled toward them and I wonder if this time away from them is justified. Maybe it's too soon to tell. If only I had enough money to bring them along on these adventures (if they care to tag along). But they have their lives and their own wanderlust. It's hard to know if we make the right decisions where our children are concerned. Often, it seems we're damned if we do and damned if we don't. Stay, go, give, instruct, meddle, step back. What's the best approach for each at different times? Striking the right balance at the right time is tricky. I feel terribly lucky to have such wonderful children, for Jaime and James seem to understand my need to experience the world and they've sent me away with words of encouragement: "Go, Mama, don't worry about us. Do what you need to do." Such understanding seems to be beyond their years, yet they support me wholly. And I return their understanding. More and more, Jaime and James seep into my thoughts night and day. I must return to them and embrace them, to store up reserve to leave again, to return to Kenya, to fulfill this two-year stint. After completing this course, I'll return to Jaime and James and embrace them, again storing up reserve, until it's time to move on to India or destinations unknown. I'll carry them with me, as I've carried them to Kenya, and they'll visit me elsewhere, as they'll visit me here and the three of us will work hard to make sure we each have from the others what is necessary to be happy. For ultimately, I want my children to be happy with themselves. Then they can go anywhere in the world, be it Kenya or Delhi or Peru or Atlanta, and be satisfied, for they have themselves. And their selves are all they'll ever really need. In my eyes, their selves are plenty. And plenty wonderful.