the anticlimatic nature of declaring one's intentions
This morning my mom asked me what my plans were for today. I told her in the most innocent sounding voice possible, "I think I'm going to run away." She expressed neither surprise nor concern and instead calmly asked me, "Where to?" to which I responded, "A big rock in the mountains." She then asked, "Why?" to which I answered, "Because Sophie and I want to hide from the world and disappear while we have a chance." She looked at me quizzically for a moment before firmly saying, "No."
I didn't run away today. And I'm probably not going to run and hide tonight or tomorrow or even the day after that. I guess if I were smart I would have put on my running shoes, grabbed Sophie and her pooper scooper bag, and headed for the mountains without asking for anyone's permission to leave. If I would have run, I would have left a note explaining a vague and general idea of where I was going and a vague and general idea of when I would return. I would have even taken my cell phone just so I could call for help if a cougar tried to eat me. But oh well. There's no need to plan any of the what ifs, especially since there is absolutely no possibility of any of them happening (although I still carry my cell phone with me most of the time just in case a cougar jumps out at me (honestly, I need to watch out for that Cosmo character - he frightens me)).
But wouldn't it have been great to disappear? To leave and hide and return only when I'm ready to face the cloudy, decision-demanding world? I think it would have been splendid. Trouble is, I'm starting to realize that whenever I run, I don't leave all of my baggage behind. I take it with me wherever I go - it's a gunny sack that is superglued to my back and weighs me down no matter what direction I decide to travel, running away or not. And it kind of stinks, to be honest (not that I'm packing garbage with me, although I'm sure there are some smelly socks shoved into that sack-o'-mine). What's the point of running if I can't physically or mentally or emotionally run from the fear that is plaguing me?
To tell the truth, I don't know the answer to that question. And I don't think I ever will. In declaring my intentions to the world of wanting to run away, I know now that I'm never going to be able to escape. I suppose I can run and hide within my school studies or in reading or through writing or with a Hostess cupcake every now and again, but I'm never going to be able to escape until I decide to face my fears and conquer them with the deft movements of a rusty spork. It would be so much easier if I could hide under a big rock in the mountains and eat locusts and honey until I felt purged and ready to take on the world. But I can't do that - life doesn't work that way.
Sigh. Where's my rusty spork when I need it? I have some fears to face. And since I can no longer run away, I might as well declare my new intentions: Anticlimactic as they may seem, I have a sporking match to fight. And I'm going to win. And after I do, I'm really and truly going to run away - it's been far too long since I've tried to escape and forget my past and present fears.
I didn't run away today. And I'm probably not going to run and hide tonight or tomorrow or even the day after that. I guess if I were smart I would have put on my running shoes, grabbed Sophie and her pooper scooper bag, and headed for the mountains without asking for anyone's permission to leave. If I would have run, I would have left a note explaining a vague and general idea of where I was going and a vague and general idea of when I would return. I would have even taken my cell phone just so I could call for help if a cougar tried to eat me. But oh well. There's no need to plan any of the what ifs, especially since there is absolutely no possibility of any of them happening (although I still carry my cell phone with me most of the time just in case a cougar jumps out at me (honestly, I need to watch out for that Cosmo character - he frightens me)).
But wouldn't it have been great to disappear? To leave and hide and return only when I'm ready to face the cloudy, decision-demanding world? I think it would have been splendid. Trouble is, I'm starting to realize that whenever I run, I don't leave all of my baggage behind. I take it with me wherever I go - it's a gunny sack that is superglued to my back and weighs me down no matter what direction I decide to travel, running away or not. And it kind of stinks, to be honest (not that I'm packing garbage with me, although I'm sure there are some smelly socks shoved into that sack-o'-mine). What's the point of running if I can't physically or mentally or emotionally run from the fear that is plaguing me?
To tell the truth, I don't know the answer to that question. And I don't think I ever will. In declaring my intentions to the world of wanting to run away, I know now that I'm never going to be able to escape. I suppose I can run and hide within my school studies or in reading or through writing or with a Hostess cupcake every now and again, but I'm never going to be able to escape until I decide to face my fears and conquer them with the deft movements of a rusty spork. It would be so much easier if I could hide under a big rock in the mountains and eat locusts and honey until I felt purged and ready to take on the world. But I can't do that - life doesn't work that way.
Sigh. Where's my rusty spork when I need it? I have some fears to face. And since I can no longer run away, I might as well declare my new intentions: Anticlimactic as they may seem, I have a sporking match to fight. And I'm going to win. And after I do, I'm really and truly going to run away - it's been far too long since I've tried to escape and forget my past and present fears.
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