"This is your harvest, the beginnings of sympathy and understanding of people. But it is only the beginning, Lesson One in the book, and all the other chapters are to follow. And in spite of myself, I felt a stirring of curiosity and eagerness to turn the page and see what lay in Chapter Two. In that instant, my grip began to relax." Adele Crockett Robertson - The Orchard
My name is Marie. Like all people do at one point or another, I have managed to find myself in a position where my slate is wiped clean. The precursor to beginnings is endings. And those "endings" are irrelevant, excepting that they put me where I am today. In search of new vision, saddlebags packed with lessons, I am setting out to experience the world where I reside.
On a recent trip to Los Angeles, I met a new friend whose story sparked again in me the want for wonder. That thing that's so easy to lose as the bills stack higher, and the systems roll over us. His story is simple. He was living the "American Dream", but flushed it down the toilet and chose desire. The hungry life of an artist. His reasoning was that he did not want to turn around in his sunset years and wonder "what if?" Brave.
Admittedly, I live a charmed life. The career I have chosen makes me incredibly happy, it's not something I'd like to give up. However, challenged by the risk my friend was willing to take, I started to wonder if there was something deep inside me that I buried. Some wild dream, the things I spoke of as a kid, when everything in the world was possible.
The answer was immediate. I've always said even in my darkest times, the only thing I've ever wanted to do is travel the world. And though I manage to get on an airplane a fair amount, my passport is rotting away in my desk, never used except for the original trip I acquired it for. Ten years ago.
Once I heard a woman say, "There is a difference between running and running away." I used to agree, but today I'm not so sure. Whether the motivation to leave our current position is running or running away, it seems that the fruit is the same. The joy of travel is that it always changes us, it shakes up what is normal. It is impossible for me to return home and look at my world with the same eyes. Travel is confrontational for my heart. It backs me into a corner and forces me to decide where I'm content or discontent, and then to act.
And sometimes "change" is as simple as moving one seat over from my usual spot at the table. It's the same room, but it looks different. It ushers "wonder" back in.
This blog is about running away. It's about tasting the world instead of trying to "figure it out". The places I go, the people I encounter, and the experiences I have in those places change me.
On the airplane home from Los Angeles, I popped my headphones into the Delta radio station. And as I processed those four days in my journey a beautiful song started to play, it was called "Runaway".
