I like going.
Going for drives, going on a trip, going on an adventure, going any place new, going. Air that’s moving is always fresher, and if it seems still, then I like to make it move by going.
Maybe that seems to be a strange thing, for a staying person; maybe it makes the best sense of all.
But going is so romantic in its early moments, the excitement of something new, of what could be just ahead. First encounters.
by Emily Dickinson
Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea,
Past the houses — past the headlands –
Into deep Eternity –
Bred as we, among the mountains,
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land?
The moment is in the going. Dickinson mentions Eternity. The going that is life. I wish I could stop looking for the next going and finish out the one I’m in. When the experience is no longer new, the wonder quietly leaves if I let it.
I wish I didn’t let it.
