A longtime fantasy of mine is to run away.
Disappear. Go. Vanish.
Witness protection seemed like a dream come true. Get a fresh start with a home and a job in a new place where nobody knew me. I’d be unencumbered by the past and have limitless options for the future.
After every vacation we took, I’d spend months researching where we stayed trying to figure out how we could relocate there and I could earn a living.
Since I switched jobs and we relocated several times, I lived out part of this fantasy to realize that I was the same, no matter where we went.
Even after we relocated to paradise (South Florida) after a period of time ,y escape fantasy would resurface. I longed to move to bike-friendly Portland, tech-centric Silicon Valley, frugal Longmont CO, or the socialistic Nordic countries.
After Ellen died, I ran away from society.
I pared my stuff down to fit in a pickup truck and hit the road with Snickers. I drove 10,000 miles and spent 2 months living in national forests, deserts and truck stops.
I explored the highways and backroads of Arizona, Texas and New Mexico. I drove through small towns and big cities.
I flitted through Mississippi, Tennessee, Alabama, Louisiana, Arkansas and California. Sometimes places I stayed a night. Other places I raced through.
I had a few friends, no job and no one depending on me.
I was free of responsibility.
I was “living the fantasy”.
Except, other than during a few brief interludes, I hated every minute of it. It took me 2 months on the road until I accepted that I didn’t want to run away anymore.
Within a week, I had driven across the country, bought a house and began to rebuild a life.
It’s been a year since then. Sometimes, when I am bored or upset, I think about running away.
I’ll browse at real estate listings. I’ll research how to immigrate to Sweden or New Zealand or Canada. I’ll even tell myself how easy it would be since I live so lightly now that I could jettison nearly everything I own and relocate in a heartbeat.
Then I’ll laugh at myself. Because I know I can’t run away. I don’t even want to run away. I like my home. I chose my neighborhood. I like my life. The fantasy now is powerless. It is mindless entertainment.
I like that my house has rustic flooring that I installed, minimal furniture that I stained, cabinets that I refinished and artwork that I created. I have good neighbors, a lovely neighborhood and just the right mix of nature and suburbia.
I have nothing to run from and nothing to run toward.