The delights of self-discovery are always available.
-- Gail Sheehy

Traveling alone through the South, the cool sounds of jazz, reggae, calypso, and bossa nova pouring from the car’s speakers, passing up the speedways of I-40 and -65, -20 and -85, and -10 and -95 for the more scenic and switchback roads of U.S., state, and rural routes, happening upon quaint antique shops, jam and jelly orchards, and Mennonite farms, while stumbling burgundy-faced upon an occasional underground cock fight and “hooch” still, she discovered she loved the way her hair blew in the wind of her open windows. She admired the way the sun shone on her driving arm and made her skin appear radiant and rich. She noticed how clear her thinking was as she looked out over the expanse of rolling hills and coastal lowlands she traveled. She marveled at the way it appeared the cows and horses watched her as she drove along, imagining they wondered at how marvelous it must be to feel as free as she must feel. She even began to appreciate the fragrant air wafting around the farmlands as she passed them, remarking that the pungent scents were the hallmarks of agriculture that sustained her family and many others from generation to generation.

While traveling, she discovered her gift of gab as she chewed the fat with the locals. She tapped into a previously unidentified interest in Southern history, the kind that isn’t found in books but on the porches of the elders who swing and keep rhythm with the easy passing of the day and the singing of the cicadas at night.

She discovered that the Spanish moss covered oak trees reminded her of the delicate and feminine parts of herself that are still hardy enough to make her a complete woman. Realizing a fondness and affinity for mint juleps – in a silver mug, of course – and blackberry cobbler with large scoops of homemade vanilla ice cream after drinking and eating underneath the largest moss-covered oak tree in the square, she learned that she enjoyed laughing from the gut, especially as she laughed at her own purple blackberry mustache and bib-stained blouse. As she hiccupped through the lush grounds in Savannah, Saint Augustine, and Beaufort, she became aware of her lightness of foot and ever-so-slight twist of the hips as she walked barefoot and carefree with her silver mug and its sweet contents.

She satisfied her curiosity of Gullah and Geechee dialect, realizing they are art forms as much as they are languages, and feeling in her spirit that her own ancient family haled “frum de lowcountree an de islandt.” Investing in the preservation of the Sea Islands, she toured the lands and even slept in a refurbished slave shanty only to be spooked by the intense existence of the Islands’ ghost and other rich traditions and rituals. She confirmed for herself that she liked hanging out among the living and that she’d gladly leave the dead to the morticians.

Her adventures took her to the waters of the Atlantic where she bathed and soaked in them and imagined her greatest grandparents doing the same. She looked out upon the waters, and seeing nothing in the distance, believed that Columbus could have been right for all she knew, or at least have a valid point about that drop off. Realizing that the sea conjured up lonely feelings for her, she got back in her car and headed for her land-bound home far north of the ocean.

Returning home, she gathered all her thoughts, experiences, memories, and adventures into a chest and put them away in the back of the closet. Of the treasures she discovered about herself along the way, she shares them daily in the pages of this journal.

Sadiqqa © 2007