I intended to write a blog post about my Indian desert experience. A year ago. It was such a remarkable adventure and I wanted to capture it in every miniscule detail but it was those very details that overwhelmed me and so I kept putting it off. Then I became disillusioned by just how quickly the specifics of what should have been one of the most memorable nights of my life started to become hazy. And so, here I am, over a year since that unforgettable experience and, well, it’s being forgotten – all because I wanted to record it in writing perfectly instead of urgently.

I feel as though I’ve had my fair share of I-intended-tos and I-had-planned-ons but my life’s current state is proof that good intentions get you nowhere. Action, sometimes even without understanding and answers, is always a better option than meaning without follow through.

As I took my nightly trek down the turnpike this evening, I consciously decided to scroll past the usual playlists in favor of some music I hadn’t actively listened to for roughly a decade. It’s astounding to me how the songs that played during the days when I tried to decide who I wanted to be now forced me to question who I’ve become. They did so gently but unrelentingly. And they made me realize that I’ve been in a desert place.

As I thought back to who I was the first time these songs blared themselves into my life (from my boom box, no doubt, or perhaps the Walkman playing through the tape deck of my first Jetta) I realized that my journey has left that person unrecognizable to the one who was currently bleary-eyed and behind the wheel. Please don’t get me wrong, my life has been far from a struggle. In fact, I – and most everyone else, I’m sure – would consider myself quite privileged. But my could-haves and should-haves and still-didn’ts have caught up with me and I’m acutely aware of the fact that they have left the land beneath my feet so dried up.

I didn’t mean to get here but I did get here by my choice. No one kidnapped me and brought me to this wasteland or tied me, kicking and screaming, to a wayward camel. This is my own doing. Every unrealized goal, every time I let the unknown keep me from taking a risk, every “no” that I perceived as a personal attack, every desire that took a back burner to obligation, every disappointment that I allowed to chip away at my joy and motivation – these were each a step I chose to travel further into the wilderness.

However, just like the literal dunes, this metaphoric desert place hasn’t been without its striking beauty. Even as I’ve wandered, rather aimlessly, through these past number of years, I have had the dumb luck to stumble upon some pretty extraordinary blessings. I’ve developed some beautiful new friendships and have shockingly been able to maintain many of the old ones. My family members (and friends-turned-family) do their best to love me as I continue to flail around in the sand. I have traveled, I have made art, and I have learned a few lessons, both practical and spiritual – sometimes in spite of the arid terrain and sometimes because of it.

 

What made my actual desert safari so fantastical was that I, along with my new travel companions and several strangers, had to be evacuated because of an immense storm. In the middle of the Thar Desert, just outside of Jaisalmer, those of us who stayed awake late into the night watched as a sea of stars quickly became shrouded by a blanket of clouds. And then, in a breath, the heavens poured down. What would have been a common, albeit, torrential, storm under most other circumstances, seemed utterly terrifying and awe-inspiring in this unexpected and unforgiving setting. The abrupt streaks of lightning, the sudden rolls of thunder, the foreign nature of rain in such an arid place left us initially bewildered before ultimately coming to our senses, grabbing whatever we could and pile into the lone safety van to rumble and bounce our way to temporary shelter.

 

The next morning, whether we liked it or not, we were driven back to our abandoned camp site to collect the rest of our things and mount our camels to ride into the sunrise. We were still in the desert and it had remained utterly unchanged despite the unusual and extreme weather from the night before. What we realized, however, is that WE were changed. We were conscious of the fact that we had had a special experience and we all knew that it would be a defining moment of our travels and maybe, for some, even our lives.

I don’t know how long I’ll be in my current desert – I’m not even quite sure whether this is a temporary season or if I should hunker down and learn how to adapt to a more Bedouin existence. What I do know is that there is life even in the desert place and just when you think hope is dried up, the rain suddenly rushes down and changes you – even if it doesn’t change your circumstances.

My mother once told me, “suddenly your suddenly will come.” I don’t think she’ll ever realize how wise those words were and how much they have sustained me, especially now, when I feel as though I have been crawling through this barren land for so long. Whatever lightning and thunder it may bring, I am ready for my suddenly. I am desperate for the deluge.