I would guess it is the call of the road…
One of my dearest friends and I were recently having some pretty deep conversations during a sleepover (yes, grown-ups can have sleepovers!) and I have been pondering some of the themes a bit the last few days. She is probably one of my soul mates, as she is pretty much the female equivalent of my prince charming ideal growing up. Jim Woods is/was my first encounter with a teacher/archaeologist when I was a 4th grade GT student taking Mayan Archaeology at CSI in Twin Falls, Idaho; he was the bearded version of my first love, Indiana Jones. He set the stage for my obsession with Giorgio Tsoukalos and Tomb Raider. At one point in my life, I was completely sure that I was going to grow up to be an underwater archaeologist…fear of drowning and the ocean kind of dampened that dream (ha-ha). So of course, I settled on Social Work. It’s a natural evolution….Right?
Meh, I digressed from my point.
My friend is a previously archaeologically driven social worker who has the amazing power to make me plop down in front of her spellbound, like I am watching “Ancient Aliens.” During previously mentioned conversation, we were speaking about my (and people in general…) need to collect things and then the subsequent panic attached to it because WHAT IF YOU HAVE TO MOVE!!!
I have always attributed my hot feet to a chaotic childhood and a genetic predisposition (epigenetics methinks?) to overall wanderlust. My friend proposed that as we humanoids moved from a nomadic people and started collecting things to trade once we became agrarian that we still retained that need to move, to explore, to leave.
I think that perhaps it is stronger in some than others.
I know that I have gotten more comfortable with having the same surroundings, things, people, jobs, etc. but I never have lost the need to change, explore, and move. I constantly fight this in every aspect of my life. I used to be so proud of my ability to pack up and move in a ridiculous short amount of time. Today, I find myself to be a hoarder in a nonclinical diagnosis sense; I once had a conversation with an old friend in which I described it as “hoarding tangible thought..” Ha. I just have a need to keep papers. Perhaps in another life I was a historian or something. A cleric. A monk. Who knows. I am working toward decluttering my life again. I want to have a more simple existence, a less busy mind.
I fight the urge daily to just walk away and figure it out later. I know, I know, it’s Christmas Eve and all I can think about is running away. From everything. C’est la vie. Why fight the inevitable?
I anticipate the return to my older ways.
Once my kids are fully grown, I’ll imagine I’ll get a dog and wander. Stay in a spot for a year or a month and move on. I wish I lived in the 30s. Bonnie and Clyde romanticized stuff. Or just hop on a train and go somewhere else.
People secretly envy it…That is why movies like “Into the wild” and “wild” are popular. Edward Abbey and Thoreau were onto something.
Maybe I’ll buy an Airstream.
Or maybe I will just be a gypsy.
Or a trailer.