On the run

​When I was a little girl, I made up this game called “Escaping”. Originally inspired by the stories of the Underground Railroad, and the book “Roots”, it quickly evolved into something very, very, different. More personal.

The basic premise is exactly what you might think. I’m the protagonist being held against my will, in a world I don’t want to be in. And despite all the odds, I manage to - with a lot of athletic ability, ingenuity, aid from fantastical creatures, and a few bouts of rather unrealistic luck -  break free to live my life however I wish.

I never do continue the game once I break free. Instead, in an endless cycle of repetition, the moment I’ve conquered all, the game “resets” and I start all over.

It’s been years since I played the game. Yet a part of me realized recently, that it never really ended. In a sense I’ve been playing a rather adult version of this game my whole life.

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​I love to travel. There’s the rush of going somewhere new, the thrill of meeting strangers and hearing their stories, the excitement of unfamiliar tastes, sounds, and sights. 

I’m most at home when I’m on the road. Cheekily I saunter into airports and greet TSA with a “Hi Honey I’m home”, which generally garners puzzled looks (did she swallow too many Xanax?) or a surprised laugh.

This world fascinates me. I’m connected to it in ways I sometimes struggle to explain. 

Like how sunsets cause me to stop mid-step and gaze in wonder. Or foods will lead me to doing a happy dance in my seat mid-bite. 

I’ve been known to hug trees and ancient stone columns with wild abandon. I’ll dance with the wind, my shadows, and out in the streets in middle of rainstorms. Languages are like music to my ears. And every sound is seen through my eyes as bursts of color.

Living is a vivid experience.

So it always shocks me when someone asks if I travel so much because I am “running” from someone or something. They mean it jokingly as in the “are you a super agent spy on the lamb” kinda comment.

But recently, hearing this question gave me pause. Hours later it stayed with me. The thought cutting through the 20 movies theaters always streaming in my already hyperactive brain. 

Am I running?

I felt a visceral reaction in my body. And the more I thought about it, the more panicked I became. Could it be that the game of “escaping” continued, and my character was still in play?

Inhale. 
Exhale. 

——-

I’ve been asked this question before. But this time felt different.

In the past I would say flippant remarks like “I was running to my next adventure” or “If I told you I’d have to kill you” as though I really was a spy and it was all hush hush. I’d internally roll my eyes though, at the ridiculousness of it all.

Because often when people make these comments on my life, what they are really asking is “why can’t you just be like everyone else and stay in one place?”

And what they don’t ever understand is that this IS my normal. And the rest of the world is living in a manner that simply doesn’t make sense to me.

It’s like we’re children handed this ginormous playground by a benevolent entity. And instead of scampering out to play, we lock ourselves in the schoolyard, and claim we are too busy with homework.

That’s how being “normal” according to society, looks to me.  

I’m the crazy kid who climbs the fence and looks behind, wondering why my “friends” aren’t coming along for the ride…

And they are on the other side, peering through, waiting for me to get in trouble for taking what was freely given. It’s almost like they are hoping for it so they can say “See we told you not to go.”

——--

Have I told you that I LOVE falling in love? I adore it with as much passion as I feel towards traveling. 

And unlike much of the world that seems to proscribe to the idea that we have ONLY ONE soulmate, I look out and see a vast array of beautiful souls. Who knows who among them may be a good fit for my wild and crazy kind of love?

It’s another kind of adventure on my journey. And I’m always so hopeful and happy when it happens. 

It begins with a flash of energy. Like a sizzle when you shock someone by running your feet on the carpet and then ZAP.

I meet a human who lights me up from the inside out. And he/she/they appear to feel the same. They love my crazy and my wild. They bask in my freedom and celebrate my alternative lifestyle.

Until they don’t. 
Until the very things that drew them to me, become the very things they wish to change.

And then they try to tame the wild out of me. In the name of love, of course.

Could I just be a little, well, less, me.
Not want to be out and about, exploring so much. 
Dress a bit more conservatively, just to make it “easier” when I meet others.
Not be so vocal about how I think or believe. And maybe, if I really loved them, I could…just…stay…be still…

Because I think, after experiencing this scenario time and time again, they believe that if they clip my wings, I’m less likely to leave.

They don’t understand that MY love is not place dependent. I can be in love and have them in my life, whether I stay or go. 

But that doesn’t fit with what society tells them. Because society says if I loved them, I would stay. If I loved them, I would be whoever they need me to be so they feel secure and safe that I will always be here exactly WHEN and WHERE they want me.

I’m like a favorite doll they want to put in timeout, until they get the urge to play again.

So they enact conditions, and put strings on the love we have so that I understand how IMPORTANT it is to them. How it MUST triumph over my need to be who I am.

Only just the opposite happens. 

I may try, for a little while, to be their version of normal.
But it’s like living a life taking the shallowest of breaths.
I feel dizzy and lethargic. 

Colors fade. Light seems dimmer. And no matter how tightly they wind and bind me to them, it’s never enough. They need more and more and more reassurance that I won’t leave.

Until I can’t get any air in this claustrophobic scenario, and I bolt like a mare who discovers the pasture gate is low enough to jump over.

And it’s in this moment that I realize. I HAVE been running my whole life. Trying to escape a society that teaches us the only way to love someone is by sacrificing everything you are in order to prove that love.

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See traveling is NOT me escaping. It’s as necessary to my life as eating and drinking and exercise and rest. Whether it’s a day trip, or me being on the road full time, I need the stimulation that comes from exploration. It feeds my soul.

So to say that me leading my gypsy lifestyle is me “running”, is a gross misstatement of fact. There is nothing abnormal about how I live, other than the fact that it may not be in someone else’s comfort zone to do so too.

But I will confess to running from the boring monotony that society holds up as a shining example of a “good life” led. 

While there is nothing wrong with the more traditional path of “grow up, find a partner, pop out some kids, have a home, and then retire”, such a life is not for everyone. And I dare say, that there are a lot more who have lived it, who feel as though they are missing something they crave, than are willing to openly admit.

That childhood game began as a way to understand the chaos simmering in the background of my upbringing, and provide me hope that a better future was out there. But I’m not still searching for it. 

I’m LIVING it.

And the only time I really do run, is when the ones who claim to love me most, are the ones who try to change me into something I’m not, in order to meet their needs.

But the last time I checked, the worth of my existence is not dependent upon me living up to who someone else expects me to be.

I’m always hopeful though. Maybe the next time the game resets, I’ll meet someone who doesn’t need me to fill the hole of whatever is lacking in their life. And instead of escaping, we can actually move on to the next level together.

Until then, however, I’m going to keep playing. And living.

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