I frequently have a fancy to run away.

This longing started early in life, thanks to a combination of ferocious reading and the vague terror I was different than others.

There were two elements to disappearing: First there was the ‘running towards’ element. Peter Pan, Alice, Milo, Dorothy, Lucy, countless talking animals, and science fiction characters continually wooed me to go find The Lands Beyond. For allure, their worlds beat my mundane life in Michigan by a country mile (I’ve always had a taste for the exotic and fabulous!).

The other element is ‘running away’. Escape was only solution at the time for being bullied and/or ostracized. For all my longing, I only ran away once, and this was in a peak of temper at my Mother.

My desire to seek out adventure (or at least remove myself from the prosaic) remains a strong one. I get rather tired of myself in the context of who I am. Mind! Life is not bad; I am not unhappy. This desire is about wanting to feel something new and adventuresome.

Now in my middle years I sublimate my ideation to scram through reading, viewing ‘escapist’ movies, and having as many trips as I can do/afford.  It is a thrill to be on the eve of a travel day, especially if it is to my favorite haunts like Palm Springs, Flagstaff, Santa Fe, Stratford Ontario, or Key West.

Curious –  I am not feeling any anticipation or excitement about next month’s Alaska trip, which is less than a month away. I believe this is because the trip doesn’t yet feel “real”. Someone did all the arrangements; the trip is still only an abstract idea.

To close, here is a bit of “Stolen Child” by Yeats :

Away with us he’s going,

The solemn-eyed:

He’ll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child,

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.