NAN SANDERS POKERWINSKI
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HeartWood
A blog about cultivating
creativity, connection and contentment
wherever you are

Roads Taken—and Not

4/11/2018

17 Comments

 
​Sometimes the roads we travel take us back to crossroads that were pivotal in our past.  Sometimes they show us the way forward. 
​Both happened on our recent trip through the Southwest. Ray and I spent most of our time in the Tucson area, a place that has lingered, dreamlike, in a cranny of my memory for decades. Though I've made a couple of quick visits to Tucson in recent years, I hadn't spent any wandering-around time there since an unforgettable visit in my twenties. 
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​It was 1976, and I was on a meandering road trip with my boyfriend. We'd driven from northern California to Los Angeles to visit his parents, then struck out across Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas before heading north to Oklahoma to see my family, venturing on to Kansas, and returning to California by way of Colorado. The stated purpose of the trip was to check out graduate schools in Arizona, Texas, and Kansas, but we planned the route to take in as many national parks, monuments and other nature-y points of interest as possible: Joshua Tree National Park, Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, Saguaro National Park, Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum, Mount Lemmon, Chiricahua National Monument, Cave Creek Canyon, White Sands National Monument, Carlsbad Caverns National Park, Big Bend National Park, Oklahoma's Great Salt Plains State Park, Rocky Mountain National Park, Dinosaur National Monument. 

​We spent our days hiking through cactus forests, bizarre rock formations, lush oases, meadows and more, stopping to raise binoculars or crawl on the ground in search of unusual insects. The assortment of critters boggled my mind—from the javelina that trotted across our campsite to the jewel-like cuckoo wasps and furry velvet ants that flitted and scurried around us.
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Birding in California
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Bug-hunting in Texas
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Clowning around in the Chiricahuas
​We slept out in the open—no tent—where we could watch the moon and stars and hear the night creatures. (Lucky for us, it wasn't the height of monsoon season.) Enthralled with the writings of Carlos Castaneda, I saw our surroundings as steeped in mystical power. As I contemplated the future I was heading into, I was sure it would include frequent visits to these enchanted places—as a scientist studying the flora and fauna, but also as a spiritual seeker. 
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​Somehow, life took me in other directions. Or I should say, I made decisions that took me in other directions. And though I often thought of those places and their hold on me, I never found my way back. Until last month.
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​​On this latest trip, Ray and I trekked through some of the places that had made such an impression on me more than forty years ago: Saguaro National Park, the Desert Museum, and Chiricahua National Monument, in addition to visiting sites where neither of us had been before--Sabino Canyon and Bisbee, to name a couple. 

​I expected to be wowed again by the landscape, with its unique array of plants and animals, and I was. What I didn't expect was the flash flood of memories and emotions that swept through me. I remembered the connection I'd once felt to the desert and how firmly I'd believed it would be an ongoing part of my life. I thought about the decisions I'd made that took me away from that vision, the places I wound up instead, and how easy it is for years to slip by while you're thinking, "Someday, I'll . . . "
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​My musings could have been an exercise in regret; instead I made a conscious decision to use those memories as a tool to explore my feelings about the paths I've traveled, where they've led me, and where I still want to go. (I'm not just talking about geography here, you understand.)
​Putting myself back in my twenty-seven-year-old mind, I asked myself what excited me about the prospects ahead. What did I value in my vision of the future? Returning to my sixty-nine-year-old mind, I asked myself how much of that excitement and those values I still possess—even though I took a different route to them—and what I might still make space for in my life.
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​My conclusions: At twenty-six, I prized my freedom: freedom to explore whatever captured my interest, freedom to live where I wanted, freedom to spend my days doing something rewarding. I took it as a given that my explorations would keep me close to nature. That's the part I lost for a time, when I spent long days cooped up in an office, in a big city.
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​Now I'm living a close-to-nature existence again—not in the desert, but in another place that teems with wildlife, wildflowers, and woods—and I have my freedom back. When I think about where I want to go next, it's out to discover more wondrous places, not just to see and photograph them (though you can bet I'll do that), but also to linger long enough to experience the mystery of these places and let my spirit connect with theirs. 
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Photos: Nan Pokerwinski & friends
17 Comments
Laura Bailey
4/11/2018 06:43:51 am

This is my favorite post, I think! Such great visuals -- I can see you poking around the landscape, dreaming of your future -- and a reminder that things rarely go as planned, which isn't necessarily bad.

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Nan
4/11/2018 07:05:45 am

Absolutely! The more I thought about it, the more I felt relieved that I hadn't ended up where I thought I would. I'd be a dried-up old biologist now (no offense to any dried-up old biologists who may read this)!

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Nita
4/11/2018 07:05:02 am

Thanks for taking us along. Love the pictures that you paint with your words as well as your photography. I connect with your insights. I'm glad you're doing what you're doing. :)

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Nan
4/11/2018 07:18:22 am

Thank you so much. I needed that encouragement this week!

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Larry Schulte
4/11/2018 08:41:28 am

Is it our age? I find myself wondering about life decisions that have led me to where I am. And about the path taken. It certainly wasn't the path I envisioned, but is turned out to be so much more (better?).
Thank you for this thoughtful post, and your gorgeous photos!

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Nan
4/16/2018 07:17:17 am

Sometimes I think it's fortunate that nothing turns out quite as we imagine it will. There's so much we're not capable of imagining!

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laura bailey
4/16/2018 07:30:12 am

This is true! And I know that at least for me, when I'm overcome with desire for what I think I *have* to have, I'm not very open to other possibilities.

Gloria Switzer
4/11/2018 12:03:38 pm

Beautiful reflection and pictures. Thank you for your decision, whenever it was made, to reflect on life, write a blog, take beautiful pictures and share it all with people like me. I am grateful for you, you life and your talent(s)!
Peace, gloria

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Nan
4/16/2018 07:18:53 am

Thank you, Gloria. I'm not sure it was a conscious decision -- more of an impulse -- but it keeps impelling me, and I keep going where it leads.

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Gard Otis
4/11/2018 12:13:17 pm

Various events in my life this year, my last year as an employed professor and first 3 months as a retired professor have caused me to reflect a lot on my past as well. What does 'retired' mean? Your grad school advisor, "Mich", studied bees for 80 years until at 96 years of age his body would not allow him to carry on. Having him as our mentor helps to give me the freedom to stay as involved in my academic pursuits as I want, while also moving on to new and different things that were not possible while teaching. Once again I am faced with those diverging roads, with multiple enticing paths to follow. Fortunately, I don't feel pressure to follow any of them-- I am free. How lucky to have that freedom.

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Nan
4/16/2018 07:23:05 am

Mich was an inspiration. Not only did he follow his passion for more than 80 years, but he also set an example in the way he interacted with people and the world beyond bees.

I know what you mean about diverging roads and multiple enticing paths. The challenge of retirement is figuring out which of the many options to choose.

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Janet Glaser link
4/12/2018 05:37:05 am

Loved your quiet reflection on the past, your satisfaction for the present, and your freedom for the future. Yes, I think it's our age that causes us to examine where we've been and what we've done that makes living worthwhile. Reflecting on the past and planning for the future is important to us. Telling our story is important too for future generations. No matter how tough life gets, they will know we experienced joys and sadness and got through it! Lately I have noticed the little things, simple things in my life and savor those. So glad you didn't stay in the desert. Otherwise we may have never met!

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Nan
4/16/2018 07:24:30 am

Stay tuned, Janet. Next week's post is all about the little, simple things in life.

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Sally C. Kane
4/15/2018 12:01:16 pm

What a spiritual geography. Thank you for taking us on this inward, honest journery of your past and present, illuminated by your georgeous photos! I too love the Sonoran Desert, and feel a relationship with it. LIke others who responded, I believe reflections on our past, present and future can be a landmark of our senior years.

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Nan
4/16/2018 07:25:23 am

How fortunate we are to have made it to the point in life where we can look back and reflect.

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Sandy McPeak
4/16/2018 04:47:24 pm

I love his post. So spiritual. I too was obsessed with Carlos Castenada all those years ago. How could I have forgotten an author who is so compelling. I remember Howard right?
Thank you for sharing your adventure with us!!

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Nan
4/17/2018 06:28:17 am

I didn't know you were a Carlos Castaneda fan, too (or if I did, I'd forgotten). Yep, that's Howard in the old photos.

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    Nan Sanders Pokerwinski, a former journalist, writes memoir and personal essays, makes collages and likes to play outside. She lives in West Michigan with her husband, Ray.

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  • Atrocity (Novel)
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