Journey Proud

"Journey Proud." That's the term I learned from my mom that names the feeling you have right before going on a big trip. You know the feeling. Everything is all packed and ready, the lists are checked and rechecked, the itinerary is confirmed, and you're laying in bed the night before, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, and trying to go to sleep. Journey proud. She learned it from her grandmother. Beyond that, its etymology is a mystery to me.

I've never asked about whether it's possible to be journey proud for someone else. Maybe there's a different word for it. But whatever it is, I'm that.

Heather Marie is going down to Smackover tomorrow morning to attend the Arkansas Museum Association conference, and although we've been apart on trips several times since we got married, there have only been a handful of times that she's been the one to go off and leave me. (She's got a scholarship to attend, which is amazingly cool, even for an amazing woman like her. I'm really proud of her.)

I don't worry too much when I travel, since I figure my safe return home is more or less under my control. Not so with her. No control from me at all. In fact, she's not even driving herself, she's riding with some people from the museum in Rogers. Strangely, even though she has no long distance solo driving experience, I know she's a good driver. I don't know jack about her traveling companions!

I'm assuming this must be what parents of teenagers feel like when their kids start going off on their own. It's kind of a strange way to feel about your wife, I know, but maybe it'll help prepare me for our kids to do the same thing someday. At the very least, it's given me a newfound empathy with my own parents.