A Season of Wander(ing)

When I was young, I dreamed of getting away, certain I would move to L.A. the first chance I got. Or maybe San Diego. Somewhere warm, with a beach.

I was born in Florida, and even though my parents moved us to Missouri when I was six, I always said I was still a beach baby at heart and someday I’d return. (There was a time when I wanted to be a Marine Biologist, but that was hampered by the tiny fact that I’m terrible at math and science.)

In addition to my love of the ocean, I’ve always had itchy feet. My kids and I have moved more times than I can count through the years. Often, it was due to circumstances beyond our control, but just as often it was because we’d look at each other and say, “I wonder what it’s like to live there.”

Their father was from Missouri, which kept us tethered to this state, even though the kids often lobbied hard for us to pick up and move somewhere exciting like Louisiana or Florida. (Both of which are very exciting if you love alligators as much as my oldest does.) I took them on a handful of road trips, always to Florida because we were craving the beach and I was missing home. It was never as often as we’d like—we were always stupidly broke—but we treasured the times, nonetheless.

Now that they’re grown, they’re scattering to adventures of their own. In that very brief window of adulthood before I had kids, if I got itchy feet, I’d load up my car and go. I wandered the west. Spent a summer on the beach down south. After kids, that got infinitely more difficult, so I’m glad to see them exploring the world before their own lives get too serious.

We managed to have our share of adventures when they were kids, but it was rare we got out of the state. We were just about to move to Colorado for my job when my middle son had his horseback riding accident, which would shape the trajectory of our lives for the next decade. I’d had to be careful with money before. That accident decimated me financially. My son healed, and that’s all that matters, but it did change our world.

It's 2022, and the last time I took a vacation was 2015. (There were a couple of work trips thrown in there or I’d be truly climbing the walls by now.) Every time I think I’m going to get to go somewhere, something happens at the last minute to change the plans. Car trouble, global pandemic, something.

I have an Instagram account that’s full of pictures of my dog at the same park we always walk to. For many people, that’s comforting. For me, it’s torture.

And since the pandemic, it’s been even worse. I work from home now. I don’t go out to eat if it’s too cold to be on a patio (and it’s winter, so…). I don’t yet feel comfortable going to large events. I’ve basically become a recluse. It some ways, it’s peaceful. I’ve done a lot of healing and growing in these past couple of years. I’ve written a lot and my brain races with words I want to write still.

But if I don’t get out of this house—and this state—soon, I’m going to make myself crazy(er).

In just over a week, Fred the Super Mutt and I will be leaving to spend nine days wandering down to Georgia and Florida and then back up again via the Carolinas. The plan is to make a trip each month between now and August, when my number three son moves out. Maybe I’ll figure out where I want to live next in all of the wandering.

Or maybe August will come and I’ll wander full-time for a bit to make up for twenty-three years of itchy feet. I don’t know. And the not knowing is both terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

Gas prices are soaring and there’s a great big question mark over the future in so many ways, but it’s time to start living again. Even if it’s just me, Fred, a starry sky, and the words in my brain, there’s a whole big world to see and I’m eager to see it.

Oh, and if you’re wondering what books I have in store for this year, I’m not making any announcements until I’m a little further along with things. I tend to overcommit, and it sucks all of the joy out of the process.​ But I will do my best to write about my wanderings and to make some bookish announcements soon!

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So Confident, and yet So Wrong

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Fred the Super Mutt