Running away from home

On many occasions as a child, I would take one of my dad's bandanas, fill it with packages of Juicy Fruit and cans of Pepsi, tie it to a stick and walk - bundle over shoulder - as far as I could away from home.  I would end up at the far corner of our neighbor's yard or a way down the next street over before I got tired.  Sometimes I would make it to the high school next door and sit in the parking lot on a curb.  I would chew the gum, drink a can of soda, sit for a while and just look around.  I would wonder about this new place, explore a tree, creek bank or gutter, and then eventually return home. 

I loved - and still love - running away from home.  I don't think I will ever outgrow the feeling of wanting to pack up a bundle and go until I want to stop.  In grad school, I would make carefully constructed lists of things to take on my motorcycle across country.  It mostly involved a favorite pair of jeans, sunglasses, a boyfriend's sweater, and many mixed tapes, and the lists got me through many finance and accounting classes.

When I was 30, I did run away from home, away from everything I knew, and found myself in New Zealand.  One of the best feelings I have ever had was sitting on a bench with two people (now great friends) and asking ourselves why we were leaving a remote, idyllic town on the North Island.  We didn't have anywhere to be, our tickets were open-ended, and we could get jobs that paid under the table for as long as we wanted.  We threw the schedule, such as it was, out the window, and stayed for many more months.  One of my friends even ended up marrying a man from the town and is still there. 

Now that I am older, the fantasies really haven't changed that much.  I still want to pack it all in and just go.  Pick a place at random, meet new people, be anonymous and stay for a while with no responsibilities.  It's a freeing feeling.  It comes on during times of great stress and during times of great happiness. 

The only thing holding me back today is a bit of real estate, a dog and a cat, which means the fantasy lists have changed a bit. On my vacation last week, instead of mapping out mixed tapes, I planned how to bring the dog with me, what I would do to make sure the cat was taken care of, how to rent the houses while I was gone, and where I would go. 

I don't think this wanderlust reflects my inability to commit to something, as a friend has challenged me recently.  The idea of something unknown and new around the corner is a powerful draw for a curious person.  It's not wrong to want to see new things and meet new people, throw yourself into something you've never done, and test yourself in new ways.  And these days, I actually want to run away from home with someone else, which I think shows a decided lack of fear of commitment. 

At the end of the day, I know that my running away from home is not wrong or a manifestation of some inner failing because I know that after I've had my fill of new experiences, bubble gum and soda, I can always come home.  And I do.