I Always Wanted to Be a Free Spirit

You know--not tied down to a big house with a lot of stuff. My husband doesn’t know I just typed that, but I can hear him laughing anyway. Not that he’s any better.

When I was a young woman, way, way back in the far distant past, I wanted to travel and write. The two seemed completely compatible. My portable typewriter (non-electric) weighed eleven pounds and I figured I could do the actual writing anywhere.

In fact, when my husband proposed, he knew he was going to be in the Army for at least four years. He warned me that we would be moving frequently. I said, “No problem!” for the above reasons.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who discovered fairly early in adulthood that most things don’t turn out the way you expected.

Some of my not achieving this dream probably has a lot to do with it being vague. I have a clear picture of tossing a suitcase of clothes, my small radio with batteries, and my favorite books in the back of a small, sporty car. Plus the typewriter. From there I’d take off to discover the country.

What’s rather vague—you could say non-existent—is where I would go and why. Not even for the first adventure.

Besides that, I always pictured starting out from the little apartment I lived in after graduating from college. But I have no idea whether I kept paying rent and returned to that place or set up temporary homes elsewhere. I guess that’s what made it a dream. I just pictured out the fun part and left the to happen however it happened.

But we did get to spend three years in Germany and traveled every chance we got. At that point, most of my travel writing involved long letters to friends and family back home describing our adventures.  

Then came kids, a house, jobs. You know—life. All the usual things took their toll.

But I can still get out of the house quickly. I keep a suitcase packed with all the essentials and a list of everything else I need to toss into it. Of course, it seems that every year that list gets longer.

Okay, not so quickly.

I can pack in one full day if the laundry is done. And if I don’t need to run out for incidentals. Two days otherwise.

And there’s holding the mail, making sure the bills are caught up. Stopping the paper delivery.

Honestly, it’s a small miracle that I get out at all.