It is Tuesday. I am taking an early look at Reflections because the rest of the week is devoted to travel.  Jane and I are advancing our commitment to "run half marathons in half the states" with a race on the Berry College campus in Rome, Georgia.  I look out the window at a fresh, white Montana landscape and hope for flowers in the South.

I have always loved travel.   My parents took me as a child on long road trips each summer.  We went to the airport and watched the planes take off and land.  I spent a couple of summers in Mexico during college.  Lyle and I honeymooned in Europe.  Working for the Forest Service brought more than thirty years of meetings and training sessions around the country.  Even after all this time, I love walking through air terminals reading destination-boards:  Sioux Falls.  San Francisco.  Singapore.  It's magic!  You walk through the little door and emerge hours later in a different world.  Snow on the one end, flowers on the other.

I have always feared travel.  Ever since childhood, I have fretted about auto accidents.  Flying, while exhilarating, also means leaving the ground.  Bouncing around the sky.  Landing in crosswinds.  Slipping on ice.  I struggle with claustrophobia, especially as airlines fill the flights and cram larger passengers into smaller seats.  I am intimidated by a new airport, a new rental car, a new freeway system, a new hotel.

Like so many other aspects of life, travel is a mixed bag for me.  As I pack for this trip to Georgia, I am reflecting on the ambivalence I feel about adventure.  When Jane and I signed up for the Half 2 Run club, I knew it would mean flying more.  I knew it would mean facing my fears more often en route to my goals.  I did it anyway.  Why? 

Somewhere, half-buried in sub-consciousness, I see aging as a journey of overcoming fear.  As the years and experiences accumulate, they point out more and more threats to health, safety, and peace of mind.  Bodies fail.  Minds fail.  Machines fail.  People go crazy. Weather goes crazy. Earthquakes happen.  Tornadoes happen.  I am tempted to run the other way, to hide under the bed, to seek safety by facing inward and staying close to home.  I want to resist that temptation, facing outward and facing up to the challenge.