I took a detour.

It wasn’t on the original plan.  I don’t always follow the plan.  Plans are meant to be guides, not limits.  My first trip overseas taught me the best plans open doors to new experiences and exciting memories.  They should never restrict you to checklists and guidebooks.  So when the GPS said the quickest route home would be the highway, I ignored it and turned toward the more scenic route.  The road less traveled…metaphorically speaking, of course.

It’s called the Cape Hatteras National Seashore.  It is the scenic road (NC 12) that connects the barrier islands from Bodie Island to Ocracoke Island over about a 70 miles stretch. It’s the Great Ocean Road of Southeastern America.  It by no means matches the greatness of the Australian wonder, but every country possesses its own magic.  Sometimes Americans overlook and often take for granted the beauty of our land.

Cape Hatteras is a combination of natural and cultural resources, and during peak season a cornucopia of recreational activities.  Fishing and surfing along this coast is considered the best along the east coast region.  Combined with off-road vehicle adventures, kite boarding, sailing, jet-skiing, swimming, and the plethora of water activities available, this area is a much sought after vacation spot.

It’s winter now.  The beaches are empty.  The local fishermen can be found along the outer banks and in the marshes, but for the most part it’s miles and miles of unobstructed peace.

I stopped at one of the beach access points for a break.  It was a perfect place to take a picture of the showers and changing rooms available for beach dwellers.  I sent it off to my French friend who had mocked American modesty and introduced me to changing clothes on the beach.

“Now this is where you change into a suit!” I tagged the photo.

She reminded me that changing rooms are for sissies.

I chuckled.  I do miss France.

The walk on the beach was cold, windy and beautiful.  Storm clouds brewed in the distance and the sunbeams were bursting through the clouds as if creating a religious experience. How can you not take a moment to breathe it in? Let the beat of the waves adjust your internal rhythm?  Find perspective in the very existence of an ocean so deep and wide?

It’s easy to lose yourself in the stress of life.  Work-life balance is always an issue, but removing work from the equation doesn’t always equal life.  Often, the unemployed are too stressed about the future to actually take time to live.  How will I pay the bills? What if I lose my home?  My car? The fear for the future takes over and they are either overcome with a paralyzing depression, an unfocused anxiety or an obsession for the job search.  It’s one of those tragic points in life when excuses gain enough weight to appear as truths.

Sometimes looking out over the ocean reminds me that nothing is impossible.

I could walk on the beach for hours, but I should be on my way.  Pea island is only a few miles up the road and I hear it has a wildlife refuge.  Maybe I can drink my coffee with migrating fowls and seas turtles.

But wait!  There’s a lighthouse.

I pull the car to the side of the road and climb on the roof of the car to get a good picture.

A man is standing nearby wearing waders and chewing tobacco as he patiently awaits the tug on his fishing line.  He laughs at me.

“She’s perty, ain’t she?” Ah the extreme southern accent!  I mock my own, but try to behave with those who have it worse.

I discovered his name was Roger, and he explained the Bodie Island Lighthouse is actually the thirst attempt to illuminate the dangerous stretch of coast between Cape Hatteras and Currituck Beach.

“The keeper’s cottage has a visitor center,” he explained.  “I don’t know if it’s open since this time of year we depend on volunteers to run most everything.  You could try, M’am.  It has a good amount of history if you’re into it.”

Sadly, it was closed.  But there was a chatty groundskeeper who told me quite a bit about the structural issues with the lighthouse and the funding problems over the years that prevented proper historical preservation.  He also shared some folklore regarding the “Graveyard of the Atlantic.”  The treacherous currents, shoals and storms along this coast have provided a wealth of history relating to shipwrecks, lighthouses, heroes and ghosts.  You can only really appreciate these stories as delivered by the locals.

By the time I had walked along the path of the wildlife refuge and taken advantage of the many photo opportunities along the way, I realized I’d better stay focused or I’d miss the ferries that would take me back to the mainland.  There are two of them.  The Ocracoke Ferry is only a 30 minute ride (though the wait at the start can take some time).  The second ferry however is over 2 hours long.

After taking some pictures and tweeting with my friends, I grabbed my coffee from the car and curled up on the floor of the ferry beside a biker who was snuggled beneath his sleeping bag reading a book.  He was traveling cross country.  He’d been laid off and was heading back to his hometown in Arizona.  There was every reason to panic, to focus on the down side, to say he may have the time but not the money to take the time to enjoy the view.  He hadn’t.  When life had dealt him the blow, he’d decided to sell his house and make the cross country trip home a life experience.  He’d decided to let the future take care of itself.  He’d planned for the future and it was stripped from him with the cut of a corporate budget. Perhaps it was time for a new outlook, a new adventure. He may never get the time to do this again.

“Besides,” he said.  “Is it really that healthy to live in fear?”

I like him immediately.

My 10 hour drive home was entering its second day.  I wasn’t going to worry. I could send out resumes from home, or from the road. I could stress over my situation in the confines of my town, or I could seek peace and direction in this detour.

“I’ll share a section of my sleeping bag if you share some of that coffee,” he offered.

I did more than that.  For the next hour, I shared a journey.