I can be selfish. I can be selfish with my time and with my attention. It’s not something I am proud of, but it’s a battle I routinely have with myself. I rarely call those I love. I am awful about making plans or scheduling visits. I am.

I don’t visit my aunt enough. I should. I make excuses. It’s a two-hour drive or I don’t have time or I’ve talked to her and she’s ok. Recently, she’s been on my mind and I’ve been working to propel myself to visit her.

Last week she had a bit of a health scare that turned out to be nothing, thank goodness, but it was enough to prompt me to text my brother and invite him to join me on a little road trip to see her.

Whereas I was so looking forward to visiting with her, I must confess that I was not looking forward spending the day in transit.

What started as something I wasn’t thrilled with, ended up being something I will be eternally grateful for.

I had quality time, uninterrupted with my youngest brother. I had an opportunity to relax and “hang out” with my aunt, my beloved godmother. I had a beautiful drive just as autumn was coming to Kentucky. I had an opportunity to stop by and visit my dearest of friends, her husband and sweet family.

Somewhere among all of that we perused yard sales, meandered through a neighboring county, came home with a trunk full of treasures, a Trader Joe’s haul, more books and CDs.

My car was full of stuff, but I was full (get ready for the sappy stuff) of wonderful memories of those rare, sweet times with those that I love and love me back.

I don’t have a single photo, but it’s etched in my mind. My brother’s intense words as he talked passionately about his children. My aunt’s expression as we walked in the door. The wonderful, all enveloping hug my dear friend had waiting for me.

It is about the journey, isn’t it?


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