#37 Runaway 

When I was 9, I ran away from home. I can't imagine what my parents could have possibly said or done that would have upset me to the extent that I felt the need to abscond, but for whatever reason, I retaliated in true dramatic fashion. I loaded my brothers (one was an infant at the time) into a little red wagon and wheeled them down the road until I found a small, but inviting glen in the woods. We tucked ourselves away and I quickly proceeded to build a stick shelter and a fire for us, as it had started to drizzle. Next, I wheeled my good-sported siblings down to the river, and gently stowed them under a bridge while I tried to determine if I was skillful enough to catch a fish with my bare hands. After several futile attempts I gave up and wheeled my poor captives back to our makeshift homestead. 

I was staying busy serenading the little fellows and foraging for something to eat- because by that point, the infant child was starting to protest. Meanwhile, my parents were stricken with concern and were out searching for us. They looked under the bridge, but were too late. They walked the nearby roads, but we were nestled too far into the woods for them to see us. I was taking great joy in assuming that my parents were feeling dread, panic, and concern for our well being. After several hours had passed, I decided they had been adequately punished and I pulled the little family wagon back home. My parents were not impressed and I was swiftly grounded for the first and only time in my life. And my brothers haven't trusted me since. 

Running away has been sort of a theme in my life... Perhaps it was my transient upbringing. Maybe it's the constant quest for something better. Whatever the reason, I'm sure there are deep-rooted issues with long psychological descriptions associated with this behavior pattern. It's slightly embarrassing to admit that I've attended 7 colleges, that I've had more jobs (and boyfriends) than I can even recount, and that I need photo albums to know just what in the hell I've done with my life. I purchased a home once, but upon doing so, immediately realized the permanency of that decision and fled, abandoning the house, and all that went along with it. 

I guess I also run away through my songs. Writing is an escape mechanism as much as it is an art form for me. When I'm living in the fantasy world of a song, I can bask in it and not have to face the of the state of the world, or the fact that I don't want to go to grocery shopping, or any other scenario that might merit eluding reality. I've never been much of a drug enthusiast, so that form of extrication has not been my chosen one, but the imagination can be quite the entertaining little locale when you let your inhibitions down. That said, some things need to be met head-on with thought and reasoning, and we owe it to the people in our lives to give them that. Life's complications can't always just be jumped over in lieu of a song about rainbows and unicorns. But sometimes (especially for artists) part of the mental and emotional processing required to deal with real life shit can be positively aided by a good creative writing session. It's a way to work out the bugs if you will. Life can get heavy and we can't always take the easy way out and just run away. I'm slowly learning that. Besides, some things are worth sticking around and fighting for. One thing's for sure... the next time I need to escape through song, I'm going to write a little apology interlude for my brothers about the time I took them against their will and ran away to the woods.