“We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us.” ~Unknown
Lives are composed of stories…the ones we learned growing up, the ones we acted out in order to belong, or to stay safe, or to feel useful, wanted, needed…loved.
When I was younger I ran away from home. My father found me at my uncle’s house several times. It seemed I was running away too many times. I ran away from a place where I can’t seem to cope. Lately I’ve been thinking of running away.
Merle Hagaard wrote a song that explains my thought life almost down to a comma. The song made me recognize my fears and weaknesses and why running away has been one of my defense mechanism, my way to cope. Sometimes our running away is really running after something.
The lyrics are:
“I was born the running kind with leaving always on my mind
Home was never home to me at any time. Every front door found me hoping I would find the back door open. There just had to be an exit for the running kind.
Within me, there’s a prison surrounding me alone
As real as any dungeon with its walls of stone. I know running’s not the answer. But running’s been my nature. And a part of me that keeps me moving on.
I suppose it’s time to be still. I need my Atlas Book so I could see the world and fantasize about traveling. ♡