"If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there."
Wandering. (*sigh*) The Gypsy in me longs to wander; to feel the open road or the undefined trail; to toddle off into the sunset and never see the same place twice; to have the most pressing decision be "where next?" I find that the older I get, the more I long for the freedom to roam. The life I once found comfortable - the house, the job, the knowing exactly where I was going to be the next day, and everything that goes with a (perceived) successful lifestyle - well, that's the life I've become less comfortable living. It's begun to feel like a façade - like the proverbial house of cards, to be brought down as soon as the slightest gust blows. I feel an intense restlessness to be free of anything that might hold me. After all, you can't lose what you don't have.
I keep a pillow and a pile of old Indian blankets in the truck, with the idea that I never know when or where a whim might take me. I keep running my tongue over this thought that comes to me at any given moment, this thought of, "What if I sold it all, gave it all away, and left?" Left for where, or what? Don't know. Don't care. No, that's not ignorance and apathy (*smirk*) - not even close. It's boldness. It's the wild gypsy dancing with abandon by the bonfire. It's my spirit saying, "Take me as you will, take me where you will, I am open to it all. I want to learn, I want to discover, I want to be, I want to breathe." (As Tolkien said, "Not all who wander are lost.")
None of us knows where this life's journey will take us. None of us can guess what is to come. None of us can really, truly plan for tomorrow. I know one thing with certainty - it's all over with much too soon, whether the end comes at 46 or 96. In the movie, The World's Fastest Indian, Burt Munro says, "If you don't go when you want to go, when you do go, you'll find you've gone." I was struck by the perfect truth in that statement. How many times have we heard said of a dearly departed soul, "Y'know, he always wanted to go to (name place), but just never made the time..." I'd like my epitaph to read: She got gone while the gettin' was good.
Am I brave enough to live life that wide open? Am I bold enough? I sure hope so. What the hell, why not? (I can always find a place to land should I decide The Gypsy Way needs a rest.) I have a funny feeling that this could be where my path has been headed for so long. It's ironic to me that the word destiny has always seemed so solid - a tangible place to land... I'm just beginning to see that destiny may very well be an ever-shifting plane.
Stay tuned. I can write wherever I go.
... and I promise not to steal any chickens.