I’ve moved..and moved..and moved. And I can’t tell you why. Call it wanderlust. Call it escape. I am really not quite sure. I have never been forced to move. I just have done it a number of times with my wife and family. Somehow it seems to have worked out pretty well for all concerned.
Some call me crazy. I have given up promising careers and beautiful places. That is not so all important. People, life, excitement and fabulous experiences are my just rewards. I have had plenty.
When we go on vacation somewhere I immediately start looking at the glossy real estate brochures. Whether it is in the frozen tundra or tropical isles. Am I running or searching? Or just an adventuresome sort who gets bored quickly? I can’t say I have a good answer.
It is not really in my genes. Very few of my family have gone far, if at all. It’s not in Kathy’s genes either. Her dad lived on the same street for 89 years in only two houses. The rest of her family lives in that same town. Where did I get this?
As a youngster I loved going to camp. In those days it wasn’t for one or two weeks but for the entire summer. It was a marvelous adventure on a most beautiful lake in the mountains of New Hampshire.
I never got homesick but it wasn‘t because I didn‘t love my home and family. But what an adventure living in cabins, swimming in the lake, going on hikes. Just the train and bus ride from Grand Central to Lake Ossipee was the best journey an eight or nine year old could have!
In high school I commuted to school in New York City. The Long Island Railroad and three subways made up a 90 minute trip. I knew my way around New York better than most. The MOMA and Guggenheim were just around the corner. Jazz and theater became second nature to a high school senior. I wasn’t fazed or star struck. It all seemed quite natural.
College was in Washington DC at Georgetown University. Strangely, I never felt at home in college and had trouble applying myself. I didn’t want to breeze through a syllabus. I would have much rather spent time on one subject. Alas, sometimes that was partying.
The Navy followed soon thereafter and I was off to sail the seven seas. There was an excitement coincidental in getting underway. The soft rolling of a 450 foot ship gave way to severe storms and thrashing seas and it was all quite exhilarating. Viet Nam had a little different type of emotional rush.
In the end my wanderings were not so much a distaste for home as much as it was an inquiring heart. I say heart instead of mind because I am an incurable romantic. I have always fallen in love easily with both people and places. I find everything very interesting and life a thing to be savored.
I love to run when I get somewhere. The pounding of the pavement throughout neighborhoods and byways give you a feel you can’t get from a car. I ask residents about their hometowns and friends about their soul. I hold court in Starbucks. I love to hear.
I relish getting deep into conversation as if I am unlocking someone’s secret thought they may never have told anyone. The fact I do so is not so much devilish (well maybe a little) as enabling. Yes it is OK to think that. You are not weird, although I do get strange looks from time to time. Well, lots of the time.
Maybe it is hard to commit to one thing or place but I have been married to the same neat lady for some 40 years. My poor wife has seen the good the bad and the ugly.
I don’t have a problem opening up and that is probably a fault. You tend to get to know people well but you can wind up getting burned. Such is life.
I love to ponder the imponderables. And this is a big one. My writing has given me a lot more latitude. You can read it or not. I can be open without fear of rejection. I can really have thoughts and dreams and express heartache and love without looking for something in return.
You ask about broader meaning? I don’t have a clue. Or if I do, I am still not ready to admit it!
Ted The Great