There are moments, not so often any more, but they come now with ever greater intensity, usually when the world is passing by and I'm alone in the cocoon of my thoughts, a safe place, a place where my 12 year old self can play and wonder and be amazed at things – these moments come and I want to run away. I literally want to stuff my moleskine, a pen, a change of clothes and the few photographs that matter into my bag and take off. Walk down the road, stick my thumb out, hop on a boat and go into the wild adventure where everything is expectant and new and real.
It's oh so selfish. And I would consume the world, chew on other people's lives and suck in their experiences. Instead of building my own life, I would observe – I would be free from the responsibilities to anyone else, free from the want of creating stuff, free from the burden of caring for things. What is this process of adulthood, of buying a home and setting up a career and making babies – if not creation – creating a self-sacrificial universe according to societal's laws and norms?
I saw a one-eyed homeless man today. All his belongings were tied around a blanket and he stank. He reeked of filth and the unwashed smell of living in the real world, almost more of a human animal than a human being.
I am incredulous. When I came back from the real world, the world of trains and rickshaws and mountain passes and prayer flags – when I came back, I was on the thin line between poverty and civilization. Three more weeks and my savings would have run out and I wouldn't be able to pay rent or buy food. Was I afraid? Was I terrified? I don't remember.
But I am now. Caught. Stuck. Claustrophobic. Live to work, if you will. I have no regrets, only longing. I love my job. How can I not? I get to create things, work creatively and be good at it. And yet (and yet). I see the years stretched out beyond, counting down the minutes and hours until I can actually be free from the worries of "Can I do what I want without figuring out how to pay for it?". I plan my next jobs based on the things I'm supposed to need: a house, retirement, family. I'm stuck in this modern life. I exchange peace of mind to purchase stability – and a part of me that screams out, "how can things ever be stable!"
Every so often I have this idea that we are trapped by the things we need to buy. Technology breaks down too easily, objects need to be upgraded too fast, the new supplant the old carelessly and we're all chasing after one another, after a mirage of the perfect life when that life is right there before us.. if only we let go. Wouldn't it be wonderful if having the latest thing didn't matter so much? If you could live happily with the things you already have, if want wasn't such a part of your life's fabric?
There was a time when I lived that. On the road, living on $15 a day, everything I owned on my back and breathing in life and believing in everything that was right before my eyes was true and brave and right. Days weren't bounded by the morning inbox or the afternoon commute, they were opened to the whims of the road. Wherever the road took me, it was ok, because I wasn't craving stability, or expectability or predictability. Living felt like something momentous and scary and big. It was awesome.
Then the money ran out.