Home is where the heart is, but my heart was never happy. It hurt and wanted healing.
I first ran away from home when I was twelve or so. I had quite the active imagination, thanks largely in part to my mother’s insistence that I read books. Once I got over the fact that I was doing something my mother wanted me to do, I discovered that books opened up a whole new world to me with possibilities that I had never dreamed of before. I heard the call of the wild, and I answered. If the Swiss Family Robinson’s and Robinson Crusoe could do it, why not me?
I grab my backpack one rainy summer day and pack it full of all the provisions I think I’ll need on my extended journey into the great unknown that is the world outside my doorstep. Then I walk. I walk, and walk, and… walk. I walk until the skies open up, dampen my skin, and mat my hair. Continue reading