The Road and the End

I shall foot it
Down the roadway in the dusk,
Where shapes of hunger wander
And the fugutives of pain go by.
I shall foot it
In the silence of the morning,
See the night slur into dawn,
Hear the slow great winds arise
Where tall trees flank the way
And shoulder toward the sky.

The broken boulders by the road
Shall not commemorate my ruin.
Regret shall be the gravel under foot.
I shall watch for
Slim birds swift of wing
That go where wind and ranks of thunder
Drive the wild processionals of rain.

The dust of the traveled road
Shall touch my hands and face.

--Carl Sandburg

Read more after the jump.

A few difficult decisions

Of course, it is easy enough to decide to flee the country but the hows are far more complicated.

This evening we sat on a grey $20 rug, nylon loops marking dimples into the backs of our naked legs while we made some decisions. We suffer from a world-is-so-full syndrome, a certain kind of wide-eyed paralysis that comes with gulping in the possibilities like a hyperventillating neurotic. I want to do this and this and this and this and maybe that and be here and here and here and here all by the time I'm 35. The seldom-spoken side-effect of blind ambition is a debilitating indecision.

For the year that we have spent in Detroit, I have danced from one future to another, all with equal conviction and longing, trying desperately to make them all fit together into some kind of jackelope hybrid of an impossible existence. This evening's exercise was to prioritize, to throw away the less vibrant desires for the meaty middle, the irresistable heart passions.

Two things stood out among the chaff. First and foremost, we want to see the world. Second and foremost, we want to return to school. I work in the museum field, a foolishly chosen occupation considering that I am both an art lover and an artist myself. Museums are no place for visionaries and I have long felt that my career should be something that fulfills the other parts of me, the parts that don't impinge and crowd in upon my artistic impulses but rather support them by freeing my mind with other pursuits. The short of it is that I have long wanted to go into oceanography, work on a research vessel. To do so, however, I must go back to school.

What to do? Go abroad for a year and then return and apply for schools? Apply for schools, attend for a semester and then take a year off to escape? I cannot bear being trapped in one place for 4-6 years without first seeing what the world holds for me, out there, in the great green something.

I believe that we have decided to save enough over the next 11 months to afford to live a year overseas, perhaps applying to schools right before we leave, and then returning with a sated thirst to fulfill the second happiness. So much remains to be done in that time, the down-sizing, the saving, the certifications and documents, the arrangements. With a bit of luck, I will find myself lost in the rhythm of doing and won't dwell quite so much on the doldrums of day to day.

Read more after the jump.

First things first

The first order of business, of course, is to pack. When you are on the run, the where is of little consequence so long as the there is not here.

Packing is easier said that done. We have a 4,000 square foot loft full of things, many of which are still in boxes that have hardly recovered from their August rescue. We had left all of our music, our books, our furniture and untold junk in Las Vegas two lifetimes ago, unable as we were at the time to afford the cross country move. We took what would fit in our compact car and left without looking back until just two months ago. Doing without it all for so long has taught us what we truly can and cannot do without. I have learned which CDs and books I missed the most, for instance, and have also learned that if I'd forgotten about it, I truly wouldn't miss it.

This evening, we began pulling the boxes out and sorting their contents, throwing things into a freshly emptied and pilfered US Mail sorting bin that can be sold in order to finance our escape. I have no idea how long it will take us to divide and conquer our possessions. What we do keep, we have vowed, will be those things that are precious to us, that we will want to have near to us when we finally rid ourselves of the curse of wanderlust and settle down. We intend to rent some kind of storage facility and pack only what we can carry for the journey.

There are so many things still to do before we can leave but I hope that once we shuffle off the burden of ownership, we will then be light enough to move with ease.

Read more after the jump.

Escape is on the menu.

I sat at work today feeling utterly disassociated from my surroundings. Gone were any feelings of professionalism, worn down over the hours and minutes of cubicle conformity. Around me were all of these normal people who could suffer through the day-to-day, had even come to accept it as their futures, embracing it under senseless rationalizations, calling it their career and boldly ignoring the relentless pounding of the marching world outside their windows.

I gripped the arms of my ergonomic office chair, silently talking myself out of running through the world with my arms wide open.

I decided then that I had to leave.

Read more after the jump.