Today’s drive across Central Washington was a slog. Hours upon hours of beige fields and hills, broken only by the occasional green swath of not-yet-harvested hay. Yet as boring as my drive was, I was impressed by what those fields represented: the likely starting point for the hay we use for livestock, for covering newly planted grass seed, and for Halloween displays.

The fields tell a story, if you pay attention. Some are newly planted and being sprayed with water. Some fields are green and growing. Some fields are being harvested, while others were recently harvest and await bailing.

Then there are the hay barns, some simply a roof and support beams to keep rain off, and others huge warehouses. Today I saw, for the first time, huge stacks of hay under house-sized plastic “sheds” to keep all moisture out. I also saw hay rolled into cylinders and shrink wrapped in plastic like huge sausages.

Those endless miles and miles of hay-growing land — followed by rolling hills covered with wine grapes and then apples — were a striking reminder of the many hands needed –from landowners to undocumented workers–to ensure that I have food on my table. Strangers to me work long hours and put themselves at risk from pesticides and fertilizers and body-wracking effort.

I thought about that today when I made a sandwich on 22-grain bread. A lot of different farms contributed the grain for my meal. I’m grateful for their efforts.

Happy trails, Melanie

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I’ve mentioned before that since the day I left on my sabbatical coddiwomple, a little clay bunny has been seated upright on my dashboard. His tummy says, “Love Your Life.” I later added crystals that are said to help people along their journeys, spiritual and otherwise. I’m not a woo-woo person for the most part — I even approach Reiki energy work from a pragmatic perspective — but a couple of talismans can’t hurt, right?

The first part of my trip was fast paced and focused around being where I needed to be to sing, train, preach, visit with friends and one of my daughters, and attend Camp Unite!, a gathering of women campers in Morro Bay, CA (one of many such events held nationwide May 29-June 6). At times, the scale and scope of the journey and all the new sights and experiences became overwhelming. I sought out hotels and friends’ homes to regain a sense of normalcy and breathing room.

I will do a lot of reflection after this sabbatical ends, but in the thick of it, I would count some of my lessons from the first phase to be gaining comfort with changes in plans; accepting that no journey can encompass more than a minute portion of experiences to be had or sights to see; and letting go of other people’s expectations for my trip (e.g., “You stayed in another hotel? I thought you were going to camp nearly every night”). I also learned lessons by coming face-to-face with racism, cultural appropriation, Colonialism, poverty, and a host of other insults to humanity, the environment, and animals.

I’ve learned that it’s OK to fly by the seat of my pants and also to be mindful of when I am physically up to camping. After an intense day of “doing” or driving, I need the restorative powers of a decent bed and hot shower. And sometimes, self care means staying in one place for more than 24 hours; indeed, I spent a week on an Arkansas farm and six days in Salt Lake City at a friend’s home.

I have become used to not knowing where I’ll sleep at night. I usually make a decision between 4-6 pm, depending on the weather, my energy, and my sense of safety in a particular location. I am grateful that I have the ability to make choices; I am well aware that many people search each night for a place to sleep and wind up on a stoop or under a bridge. Bella is privileged also: For every day we have more than 4 hours of travel, we have a day that focuses on outdoor activity — Bella has enjoyed dog parks, creeks, and downtown wanders in quite a few states.

Now that I’m in the West, my focus is on towns not only for their interest or beauty but also for whether I can envision myself living there. I grew up in Northern California and have spent a great deal of time in Oregon and Washington. Even though I have lived in Illinois and raised a family in New Jersey, I never lost a sense of myself as a Westerner. Visiting McCloud, CA brought back wonderful memories of camping, backpacking, and skiing with friends and family while I was growing up. The smell of the pines, the views of Mount Shasta, the friendly people — it felt like home except it is too isolated for my lifestyle.

I had the gift of a high desert camping trip in the state-designated “Oregon Outback” with a friend, and while it was restorative, that would be too isolated as well. Isolated from people, that is. There was ample wildlife — birds singing and flying, coyotes howling at dusk (Bella joined in a haunting call and response — coyotes like to lure domesticated dogs toward them to eat). I carefully stepped away from a rattlesnake that rattled annoyance when I sat nearby to drink my morning tea, and as I led Bella away for safety, I nearly tripped on a gopher snake.

I spent four days in Bend, which has many of the qualities I’m looking for in a community, including Unitarian Universalist congregation. I had breakfast with the fellowship’s director of religious education, attended the annual service auction, and attended the Flower Communion worship service on Sunday. It felt comfortable, even though Bend itself is quite costly to live in and has grown too fast for infrastructure to keep pace.

I next visited Prineville, Redmond, and Sisters, all of which are within striking distance of Bend (during good weather, at least). Prineville is in a large bowl-shaped valley that appeals to me, but the town is very conservative and lacks diversity. Redmond seem to lack the energy I seek, and Sisters has cutesy country overload. It’s a cute, fun town, but I’m not sure it’s for me. I may need to visit it again when it’s not rodeo week.

Yesterday was another exploration day, and Bella and I visited the Painted Hills, which look like they’ve been brushed with watercolors of burnt sienna, taupe, white and black. Today we’ll do more exploring as we head north to Washington. Will I find my next hometown there? Who knows? That’s one of the joys of a coddiwomple.

Happy trails, Melanie

The post Looking for Home appeared first on Melanie Davis PhD.

As luck would have it, the farm is a slice of heaven on earth owned by my friends Raven Badger and Charles Proper, and they generously offered to host Bella during my time away. Raven sent me photos and videos of Bella in here element, running leash-less, keeping an eye on the horses, and rolling in assorted puddles and manure piles. In other words, she was having the time of her life. I get it, since I had a great time there also: I rode a horse, collected chicken eggs, fed food scraps to two enormous pigs, tossed alfalfa to a half dozen horses, watched a hay field be cleared of sage grass with fire, baked an apple-blackberry pie, and savored home-grown bacon and ham. I enjoyed blissful dawns and dusks, slept in a log-hewn bunk bed with Bella, and I learned to say, “Shut up, Bailey” when the parrot got too noisy for human conversation.

I had a good week with my father. We listened to his favorite jazz CDs, I wheeled him downstairs for a few meals in the assisted living facility dining room, we attended a folk guitar and mandolin concert as well as two happy hours, and we had some good conversations. I learned interesting things about his life, his career, and my parents’ marriage. I was struck by his deep gratitude for and commitment to our shared Unitarian Universalist faith. Sometimes, I read while he dozed in his wheelchair. Actually, that happened a lot, because, as a friend’s mom astutely described it, the end of life is like the winding down of a clock.

Our last day together. #loveyoudad

I had planned to ask him if he wanted to record a message for his grandchildren, but I realized that his life was his message. He lived with integrity, with deep love and passion, with generosity, and wit. It is telling that the last emotional barrier he faced before death was his frustration with an assisted living facility policy that prevented him from giving small gifts to his three favorite aides.

We talked about our family’s lack of belief in an afterlife, and I asked whether that had changed now that Mom was dead and he was at the end of his life. He paused, as he always did before speaking, and said, “I think that if you’ve lived honestly and you haven’t done anyone dirty, that’s heaven on earth.”

As hard as it was to goodbye, it became a bit more tolerable when I told him how much I missed him and Dad said, “Yes, well, it’s the circle of life and all that.” Ever the pragmatist, similar to Mom who kept waking up from naps during her last week asking, “Why am I still here? Why does it take so long to die?” Readers who know me and my sisters personally will recognize that the apples fell close to the tree.

The day before Dad died, I was driving across the Utah desert when suddenly, I was awash in emotions of love, grief, and loss. I wept as I drove, tears rolling down my face onto my shirt. It lasted about a half hour, and when it occurred to me that Dad might be transitioning into death, I spoke words that only my dog heard. I thanked him for being such a good man and father. I wished him an easy passing, I told him how deeply I would miss him, and I said goodbye. I hope my sentiments reached him energetically; around the time I had that experience, Dad was being put on a morphine drip for comfort. He died the next morning.

I didn’t feel much like blogging until now. I needed to process not only Dad’s death but also Mom’s, my uncle’s and aunt’s deaths, and the death of my beloved dog Fred, last summer. I also needed to reflect on other concerning issues facing my beloveds as I was dealing with the physical and emotional demands of this long journey around the country. It’s been a damn hard ten months, and I was raw. I’m still raw, but I’m able to write again. I’ve been recording impressions and ideas along the way, and over time I’ll catch up and share them here. One thing I have been doing is sharing photos on Instagram, and if you’d like to see them, please follow me at @uu_circuitrider (be sure to include the underscore).

Happy trails, Melanie

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Reality struck once I started researching the parks and found that national parks aren’t dog friendly. Many state parks aren’t, either, although national forests are. Most cultural centers and other local attractions aren’t dog friendly, neither are most hotels, which is why an iPhone app called “Bring Fido” found its way onto my phone and has since proved very helpful.

It became clear that I would need to rethink my sabbatical so it worked while traveling with a dog. My trip could no longer be about seeing everything I wanted to see; rather, it would be about creating an adventure that would suit both me and Bella. I wanted each of us to have an opportunity to have fun, to grow, and to explore.

I was most worried about Bella’s safety when I needed to use a restroom or buy groceries in hot weather. Temps rise shockingly fast in cars, so it’s unsafe to leave pets inside once outdoor temperatures are over 70 degrees. People with RVs often have generators or solar-powered air conditioning, but the options I found for cars/SUVs got poor reviews. The solution I gleaned from online groups was simple: Leave the ignition and AC running, use a spare key to lock the car, and make sure Bella is restrained so she cannot accidentally shift the car into gear.

Bella has learned how to contain her boundless energy and put herself into a Zen-like state in the car. She has learned hotel manners, being quiet for the most part, and taking stairs slowly. She has been a good guest in my friends’ homes, and she hasn’t had a single accident on anyone’s floor! That had been a concern of mine because she wasn’t completely housebroken at home–perhaps it was a territorial thing.

Thanks to an online guide to dog-friendly spots in Baton Rouge, Bella got to visit her first dog park, and it was a delight to see her run full speed, unfettered by a leash. She chased and was chased, rolled in mud, and proved that she can get along with other unleashed dogs.

Seeing her do so well at the dog park made me more comfortable with the idea of letting her go off leash at my friends’ farm in Witts Springs, Arkansas. There were a few scuffles, especially with Maggie, another alpha-personality heeler, but for the most part, the pack of five dog residents, two parrots, two pigs, a half dozen hens, three cats, and eight horses got along great. Of course, the pigs had their own pen, the horses were fenced, and the parrots were caged. The cats quickly taught Bella that they were not to be messed with. Only one hen lost a few feathers thanks to Bella — my fear that she’d kill one wasn’t realized.

Bella has matured in the eight months we’ve been together, since I adopted her. She’s proved herself to be loving and fun, and she’s lived up to her breed’s reputation for energy, intelligence, and an uncanny ability to communicate about more than biological needs.

I’ve grown, too. I’ve learned to trust the bond we’ve established, to trust that Bella sees me as her person, and to trust that I can manage a dog with such an independent streak. I love and respect this little beast, and I know those feelings are reciprocated. I’m so very glad we are on this journey together.

The post A Dog’s Life appeared first on Melanie Davis PhD.

While eating breakfast this morning in a Louisiana Waffle House today, I enjoyed the friendly banter between the cooks and servers. The customers were me (white), a man (white), a woman (white), and a dad and two kids (all brown). I’m guessing about our racial makeup based on skin color alone.

I hadn’t noticed the family in the booth until the white woman came to the register next to me and whispered to the server. I overheard, “I Googled it…” “they don’t look right…” After the woman paid and left, the black server said something under her breath, and the white server replied, “She looked like a nosy woman.” I asked what was going on, and the black server said quietly, “She said she didn’t think those kids belonged with that man, so she asked why they weren’t in school. They said it was spring break in North Carolina, but the woman Googled it and said it’s not spring break there.” She went back to her tasks.

I looked at the family in the booth and saw a weary-looking dad, wearing the kind of lime green vest often worn by sanitation workers. The children were likewise brown-skinned. The boy looked about 12, with glasses and dark hair streaked with pink. The girl looked about 10, her dark hair pulled into a neat pony tail. They both looked bored, as pre-teens often do while dining with parents. In other words, there was nothing unusual about this family scene.

Except there was, to the white women who looked at the same family and saw a kidnapping scene. She imposed on their privacy by demanding to know why they were in a Waffle House at 8 a.m. on a Tuesday morning. Then she had the audacity to fact check their response.

Had she been truly concerned, she’d have called the police, but she didn’t. She just voiced a concern to the servers and left. Maybe she felt she “did the right thing” by mentioning it to people with some authority in the restaurant, but she did exactly the wrong thing. She assumed the worst, likely based on the man’s brown skin, which was slightly darker than the children’s, or based on his dirty clothes. She didn’t see a work-worn dad; she saw a potential criminal.

It is tempting to give the woman one of those nicknames like those given to other white women who have called the cops on people living while black, but I won’t. She doesn’t deserve a nickname for being a racist and putting someone else’s life at risk, as noted in this Washington Post article. Had she called the police, they’d have had no choice but to assume the worst until the family could establish their identities and their right to be in the restaurant. And those first seconds and minutes put lives at risk.

But what about the spring break thing? First, the woman assumed that every school in North Carolina is on the same schedule. She neglected to consider that children might be in public, private, charter or home school settings. She ignored the possibility that the family might have been undocumented, and reporting them might have led to their separation and/or deportment. Or maybe she didn’t ignore it: maybe she considered that and didn’t care.

This is painful stuff that is important to notice. I visited the Legacy Museum and the National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama last week and was moved by the legacy of injustice endured and survived by blacks in this country as well as by the legacy of pain caused by my kindred white people. We need to acknowledge it, accept our contributions to it, and make amends and reparations.

The museum is, as described on the website, “the nation’s first memorial dedicated to the legacy of enslaved black people, people terrorized by lynching, African Americans humiliated by racial segregation and Jim Crow, and people of color burdened with contemporary presumptions of guilt and police violence.” The memorial, which is a few blocks away from the museum, combines sculpture, writings, and over 800 rusted steel rectangular monuments, some nearly resting on the concrete walkway floor, other’s suspended several feet off the floor. Each represents a county in a Deep South state in which lynching occurred, with the names and murder dates of victims engraved into the steel. As I walked among them, I noticed a monument representing four family members lynched on the same day. Many include the dates on which people were lynched but their names were not recorded. It is impossible not to feel moved by the enormity of the lives lost to the violence of racially motivated lynching.

As I exited the memorial, I passed row upon row of monuments identical to those hanging in the memorial. A sign explained that they await installation in the counties they represent, and the website notes, “Over time, the national memorial will serve as a report on which parts of the country have confronted the truth of this terror and which have not.” It is promising to note that the staff of the Equal Justice Initiative behind the museum and memorial is in communication with many communities that hope to claim and install their monuments.

What’s the connection between the museum, the memorial, and the worried woman in the Waffle House? Racism. White supremacy culture. Presumptions of guilt. An enormouse need for change.

Bella and I are leaving Shreveport this morning, bound for a holler in Arkansas. We’ll spend a few days there and may not have internet access. I’ll share photos when I can.

Happy trails, Melanie

The post A Fast Way to Ruin a Leisurely Breakfast appeared first on Melanie Davis PhD.

While planning this trip and packing for it, I envisioned having downtime to practice my ukelele and write poetry. I thought I’d blog daily as a way of journaling my trip. Not so much, but this initial press is necessary because I had a singing/speaking gig in NC and another in TX this weekend. It’s time consuming and physically tiring to do all this driving plus take breaks every two hours so Bella and I can stretch, stop for gas, and do the lugging and hauling required when living on the road. As I adjust, I am extremely grateful to have friends and acquaintances who have — and will — put up me and Bella. I’m also grateful to have the option to stay in hotels when camping doesn’t feel right. I spent some time feeling like a sellout because I was planning to camp most nights, but this journey will evolve as it will. My sabbatical plan didn’t mandate where I rest my bones at night

Speaking of bones, I’m really feeling the arthritis in my wrists and hands, given all the driving, Bella’s excited leash pulling until she wears off energy, and moving bins and the ice chest in my car. Someone suggested I could call the trip off if it gets to be too much, but I’m not quitting. I see it as a matter of adapting. For example, I have a bin on the bottom shelf of my camping setup into which I packed a small Lodge Dutch oven (for campfire cooking) with canned beans, corn, peanut butter and other heavy things. I have since placed the skillet/lid under the bin and the pot part under my sleeping platform. The bin is now a manageable weight.

Speaking of camping set ups: I turned my SUV into an RV of sorts by having my mechanic remove the rear seats and getting my nephew’s help to build a frame of 2x4s and 1x2s. Onto the frame, a sheet of plywood became a sleeping platform a little wider than my sleeping bag (stretched lengthwise, behind the front passenger seat. Down the length of the car behind the driver’s seat is a place for storing bins of clothing and supplies, with a shelf above it for more storage. After my nephew installed everything, I used a staple gun to attach an indoor/outdoor rug that I got at Costco for $14.99. With the fram and platform in place, I cannot access the under-floor storage space in the cargo area, but I gained space by removing the seats. And, I have a Thule rooof box for my folding chairs, table, and other things that wouldn’t fit in the SUV. Up top I also store a “Luggable Loo” (hoping it’s just for peace of mind.) Thanks to my new friend RJ, who has been a font of road warrior wisdom, I brought peat moss to absorb anything in the loo, rather than the expected kitty litter. Peat moss is light and biodegradable.

Backtracking: While in Roanoke, I was the land of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy (Called the Iroquois Confederacy by the French and the League of Five nations by the English). In Asheville, the Cherokee Nation; in Atlanta, the Chickasaw and the Muscogee (Creek); and in Jackson, the Natchez Nation, the Chickasaw, and the Chahta (Choctaw). The land is beautiful, once you look past the generations of brick and concrete and asphalt covering it up. Or once you leave the cities and observe the mountains, undulating hills, valleys, and woods. Reading the websites maintained by these nations, I am humbled by their reverence for nature, their ancestors and culture, and the connections among them.

Roanoke was a pitstop midway between my daughter’s home in northern VA and Brevard, NC, where I needed to be on Sunday to sing during two Sunday worship services and then lead a workshop on older adults and intimacy for the Unitarian Universalists of Transylvania County. Bella and I took a walk to the town’s big-ass star, a white metal structure that claims to be “the world’s largest star erected in 1949” (I wonder, is it still?). I have little interest in such things but did enjoy a short hike with Bella away from the crowds gathered at the base of the star, which overlooks Roanoke and the valley. Everyone who meets Bella asks to pet her, and she obliges.

I will continue to catch myself up to date later. Now I need to hit the road from Jackson to … I’m not sure where. Someplace between here and Houston, route TBD. That’s the fun of a nearly no-plan plan.

Happy trails, Melanie

The post Learnings and Observations appeared first on Melanie Davis PhD.

Bella and I arrived around 9:30 pm, having gotten a late start because there were so many work-related tasks to complete before I could leave with a clear conscience. Fortunately, I had finished packing my SUV (which now qualifies to be called an RV, I think) the weekend before. The drive from NJ to VA took about 6 hours, since we took the prettier route down Route 78 through rural NJ and PA toward VA rather than sticking to the I-95’s ugliness. And….we took bio and stretch breaks every two hours. Bella was a trouper, given than heelers have the capacity to drive cattle for hours without tiring.

Brie and I had a nice visit before bed, but Bella was up most of the night, distracted by unfamiliar house sounds. She also had the adventure of her first flights of stairs (nervous initially but caught on fast), and new toys to chew, compliments of Brie’s dog. It was interesting to see her perk up in the car when certain odors wafted in — skunks, cattle, waterways. She was calm except when we drove through a steel covered bridge — the minute she saw it ahead, she cowered in her seat. Maybe it triggered a memory of her puppyhood or the cage she was in after being rescued from a Texas road and brought to New Jersey, via the Big Dog Rescue Project.

I enjoyed seeing the countryside, but it brought back memories of helping Brie create a fourth-grade diorama of a Lenni-Lenape village for a school assignment. We used miniature railroad gravel to imitate oyster shells and fake grass to imitate New Jersey’s rolling hills. It was a cute diorama, but it didn’t depict the reality of the tribe’s history. Their culture dates back 10,000 years; indeed, their name means Original People. But, as happened so cruelly and often, the U.S. Government forcibly relocated the tribe to make way for white people. I wish I had guided Brie to create a diorama that illustrated the devastating impact of white supremacy culture on the Lenni-Lenape, but it didn’t occur to me at the time. I’ve learned since that the ability to not think about racial harm is an outgrowth of white supremacy culture.

Thanks to my Unitarian Universalist faith community and workplace trainings, along with invaluable conversations with friends and colleagues, I’ve learned a lot since the diorama days. But UUism and I have far, far to go, as do white people in general. I’m still learning and making mistakes and trying harder everyday to remain aware of and to shake off my white privilege. Part of that is to honor the history of the land I’m traveling through on my loop around this country. Another part is to educate myself and share resources. To that end, I encourage white readers, especially “I’m not a racist”-thinking people like myself, to learn how white supremacy culture and its associated privilege affects us on a personal level. A good place to start is Layla F. Saad’s Me and White Supremacy Workbook.

Before Bella and I hit the road to Roanoke, VA, Brie and I had a delightful breakfast with long-time family friends. It was a delight to catch up with them after many years and a good reminder not to wait so long between visits. It was also a lesson that blueberry quinoa and flax pancakes taste yummy but will blow your belly up like a balloon a few hours later. #lessonslearned

Now it’s time to put away this laptop and explore.

Happy trails, Melanie

The post A Warm Welcome and Food for Thought appeared first on Melanie Davis PhD.

I’ll miss seeing my sister and the dear friends and neighbors who look out for me. Quite a few of them attended a “happy trails” party for me Friday night, and I felt loved and blessed by their presence, well wishes, and protectiveness. They gave me thoughtful travel gifts including cash cards for gas and groceries, a rescue whistle, a solar-powered phone charger, and a half-dozen vacuum-packed, home-dehydrated onions and sweet peppers. I’ll reconstitute those and use them in scrambled eggs cooked in a cast iron skillet gifted by another beloved friend. (Here’s the Smoked Whiskey Campfire Cocktail recipe I contributed to the party. I wasn’t sure people would enjoy a drink that tastes like campfire smoke, but they loved it! I used Ardbeg Scotch.)

When I’m unrolling t-shirts from Ziploc bags in a black plastic bin, I’ll miss my bedroom closet, and when I’m digging dry goods out of a zippered storage bag or fishing perishables from a Coleman cooler, I’ll miss my kitchen pantry and fridge. (Note: I don’t have commercial sponsors but people have asked for travel tips, so I’m offering links to products that I’m finding helpful and purchased myself.)

I’ll miss my dog, who will guard the house when Bella and I hit the road. She knows something’s up, since she has been sleeping in my room instead of my daughter’s. I’ll miss daily interactions with my daughter, even though I can text and call her and her sisters any time. The dog will just wonder what happened to me and her pesky little buddy.

“I’ll miss my dog, who’ll stay behind when Bella and I hit the road.”

I’ll miss my huge desk at which I can work standing or seated, especially when my travel “desk” is a 12″x 12″ (yes, that’s inches) shelf hanging from the back of the front passenger seat. It will take a while to learn how to juggle an after-dinner glass of wine (aka a plastic tumbler) and a laptop by the light of a headlamp.

I’ll miss my Unitarian Universalist congregation — singing in the choir and as a soloist, listening to and reflecting upon sermons (or delivering them), and being in a spiritual community of people I’ve bonded with over decades. On the upside, I’ll be visiting UU congregations across the country, which will be a treat.

I’ll miss running to the market without a care, since on the road, I’ll have Bella with me 24/7. Even moderate temps rise drastically within minutes, turning parked cars into ovens. I’ll cross my fingers for dog-friendly farmer’s markets and roadside fruit stands. I bought a backpack to carry her in, on the off chance that allows me into places otherwise inaccessible with a critter. When I stay with friends, I’ll be leave Bella behind while I restock supplies; after all, there are only so many days I want to survive on Wasa Rye Crisp Bread, peanut butter and honey.

I’ll miss working, too. For a while, at least, I’ll itch to check work-related email and Facebook groups. I enjoy my job, especially answering challenging questions and helping people solve problems. But, the point of this sabbatical is to get away from work-related demands, to renew my spirit, and to gain new perspectives that will help me do my job better upon my return. I’m committed to making those goals a priority.

I’ll miss my current ability to quickly fly across the country if my elderly dad takes a turn. My sister does a wonderful job managing his needs, but if she needs help, I want to be there for her and him. Being on the road with a dog would certainly make that more challenging.

I’ll miss a lot of what makes my life comfortable, happy, and safe, yet I eagerly anticipate the journey ahead. The first two days on the road, I’ll still be working, albeit remotely, tying up loose ends on a few projects. Then it will be full-steam ahead on the coddiwomple. For photos, visit me and Bella on Instagram @uu_circuitrider

I invite you to consider what you would you miss if you took a long journey. What might you bring with you to make your new location(s) feel like home?

Happy trails, Melanie

The post The Things I’ll Miss appeared first on Melanie Davis PhD.

These lyrics from the Unitarian Universalist (UU) hymn “For All That Is Our Lives” are etched into my heart and literally tattooed on my skin. They reflect my lifelong mission to make my corner of the world better for my having been here and to create my own happiness. Toward the latter commitment, I will soon begin a 15-week journey across the U.S. to see what there is to see, to meet people, to meet other UUs, to breathe in nature, to be surprised and little scared, and to shake off the non-stop pace I’ve maintained for the past 10 years. You can join me on the journey by subscribing to this blog and following me on Instagram (@uu_circuitrider).

This trip is a possible because I’ll be on sabbatical from my job at the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA), for which I serve as the Our Whole Lives (OWL) Program Associate. In that capacity, I manage a comprehensive sexuality education curriculum co-published by the United Church of Christ. I am also an adjunct professor of human sexuality courses for Widener University and a trainer of education and healthcare professionals. I supervise candidates for AASECT certified sexuality educator status, and am a partner in the New Jersey Center for Sexual Wellness, counseling to teens and adults who need sexuality education they cannot access elsewhere. I’m Mom to three young adult daughters, a middle-aged Golden Retriever, and a young cattle dog. You’ll read a lot about Bella, the cattle dog, in future blog posts, since she’s coming with me on my journey.

My sabbatical is a much-needed occasion to put the bulk of my work on pause. I’ll still write, supervise, and counsel via Skype, and I’ll have some speaking gigs on the road. But I won’t be sitting at a computer most of the day; rather, I’ll hike, explore, meet people, relax, and write poems and meditations.

I’m taking a “no plan plan” approach, i.e., I have a general route and a few known destinations, but there’s room for the unexpected. I know I’ll sing at worship and run a healthy relationships workshop in Brevard, NC; I’ll preach in Houston, TX and in Surrey, British Columbia; and I’ll offer free sex and relationship advice at Camp Unite 2019, the first national women’s camp out. I’ll take you with me on a private tour of NASA, to a horse farm in Arkansas, and on a week-long loop around Colorado and New Mexico with one of my daughters. You’ll see off-the-beaten-track parts of Oregon and get a behind-the-scenes look at the UUA General Assembly of Congregations in Spokane, WA (I’m taking a week-long break from sabbatical to work). You can peek in on my experiences in St. Louis, Detroit, Albuquerque, Las Vegas, Fairfax, Atlanta, Laramie, Nashville…not in that order, but those are a few of the places I’ll be at some point. You’ll meet people who share their stories with me, including my dad, when I visit him in Washington. Throughout the trip, I’ll share photos, observations, poetry, reflections, and long-haul travel tips.

When I started planning this trip over a year ago, I called it a coddiwomple, which is an old English word meaning, “to travel purposefully toward an as-yet-unknown destination.” The term has deeper meaning as my departure date nears. I know where I’ll begin and end geographically, but I have no idea what how this journey will change me. This coddiwomple is a life reset that I enter into with purpose, intention, and with a little dog as my co-pilot.

Happy trails, Melanie

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Dear Dr. Melanie: My fiance and I have been together for almost 18 months now. When we first got together the sex was often and amazing. It lasted a very long time, and I usually had multiple orgasms. Lately I am lucky if we have sex 3 times a month, and when we do it is very short and I rarely orgasm even once. He says that he is still very attracted to me and wants me, but I feel like he doesn’t anymore. I feel like he may be wanting to leave and just doesn’t want to hurt me and my 2 children that have grown to love him. I know I am probably just reading too much into this, but I don’t know. Please give me advice! Thanks, Feeling Unwanted

Dear Feeling Unwanted,
That romantic charge couples feel in new relationships rarely lasts more than 18 months. At that point, couples fall into a comfortable groove of knowing each other’s interests, boundaries, emotional capabilities, and the logistics of daily life. This isn’t to say that relationships necessarily become boring or stale; indeed, many couples find their post-romantic relations to be more fulfilling because they have reached a deeper level of love and understanding.
It sounds like you’ve got more going on here than the typical “wearing in” period. Something triggered a change in your sex life, and the only way you’ll be able to understand it is to talk directly with your fiancé. Did his schedule or responsibilities change at work? Did his diet or exercise routine change? Did he move into your home and get over-whelmed with unexpected responsibilities as a stepdad? Did something change in your life or the way you’re acting toward him?  Have wedding preparations scared him about finances or priorities or changing family relationships?
Is there a chance that he has become concerned about privacy? Maybe he’s afraid of your kids walking in on you during your lovemaking, so he’s interested less often and for shorter periods.  Privacy is an important consideration that can be addressed with a lock on your bedroom door, and if need be, a talk with your kids about the importance of private adult time.
You mentioned that when you make love now, you aren’t experiencing orgasm. Is that due to lack of effort on your fiance’s part, or is it due to anxiety on yours? If you’re focused on feeling unloved and unwanted, an orgasm could be elusive. If he’s ignoring your needs, he needs to know that’s unacceptable to you.
Let him know that you’ve observed some changes in your sexual relationship and would like to discuss it. Phrase it as a concern of yours, not a problem with him, e.g., don’t say, “You act like you don’t love me anymore.” Do say, “Babe, I’m feeling sad that our sex life isn’t as exciting as it used to be. I miss you and want us to really enjoy each other again. When would be a good time for you within the next few days?”
Don’t accuse him of wanting to skip out, but do ask whether he’s still happy in the relationship and whether there’s anything he would like to change. Do more listening than talking, and when you do talk, avoid accusations. The way you approach this problem will set a tone for the rest of your relationship.
If he’s unwilling to discuss this with you, offer to set up a meeting with your religious leader or a couples counselor. You may not be ready for marriage if you can’t discuss your sex life and other concerns in order to develop solutions that work for both of you.

This Q/A also appears on my Sex Advice & Spice column for Fantasia Home Parties, for which I provide sexuality education training for sales reps and sexuality/relationship advice for customers. 

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