The Promise of a Vagabond

So yes I have this simple life. And I love it. Oh yes, I do. And I have to remind myself of this so often of late because I have friends who are starting off on grand, slam bam adventures and I get a little jealous – just every now and then – of their escapades.

When the economy took a dive, quite a few people in my town went looking for new digs. It’s a mass exodus, really. The other day, I came across an old Girl Scout roster from two years ago and saw that, in that time, more than half of our sweet Brownie troop has moved away.

One family went to Florida, where they somehow ride roller coasters just about every day. One went to go and live at grandma and grandpa’s beach home. One family is setting off this week for ports unknown, though I’m told it’s most likely to be Cambodia, where they figure their feet will be warm and they’ll be able to really stretch their few remaining dollars.

I told my husband the other day that if I didn’t have three kids and two dogs, this might be the time when I would want to move on. Uproot myself and start over. Ride some roller coasters or some rickshaws.

It would make me feel younger, certainly. It would make me worry less about whether I unplugged the iron or whether my son is getting enough vitamin c or whether my kids are brushing their teeth enough or if their world will be forever marred because I lose track of how long it has been between their baths. If we were in Cambodia, I’d have new things to worry about.

When I was young, I dreamed of living my entire life as a vagabond. A life in which I could travel and meet new people and write down their stories, and I wouldn’t have to do any of those things I saw my mother doing. Fretting over the tomato stains in the Tupperware. Inviting the neighbors over for coffee and pastries while exchanging techniques for properly plumping the raisins in the cinnamon rolls. Getting left behind in the kitchen after dinner with a mess.

That life was not for me, I had decided as a girl. I dreamed to be relaxed and capricious. Wayward and rootless.

But now that my kids are the age that I was then, I find that I love quite a few of my ways and even one or more of my roots.

Still, I tell myself, the time is coming in the not-so-distant future when my kids will be needing me less, and that’s when I’ll pull up some of those roots. Change my ways.

Those will be my vagabond days. And I will have so deserved each and every one.

Photo by muha…,T on Flickr

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