I was open then. Literally living on a whim. All my clothes were homemade. Scotland. Living on a peace camp. In a caravan on the side of the road. Physically I would go anywhere. More or less with anyone. To do anything. I hitch hiked up and down the UK. Drove to Europe. Flew to the America’s. In my 20’s that is how I expressed my need for freedom. The open road. A long and winding journey with no end save an imaginary convergence of place, relationship and peace.
The emotional connections I had weighed heavy on me. Family friends and place. So I was never really free. Always swinging back that way, to be drawn in by some “solid” solidifying conundrum. What stopped me was a broken betrayed heart. I wished it had catapulted me away instead of sucking me down. My whimsical fancy now took a different focus; trying to fit in, catch up, try something different, albeit trying to be the same.
I began to follow and acquiesce instead of lead. My confidence battered I forgot I knew what was best for me. Maybe this is the same road of self discovery that many of us take, different details and names but loss and suffering. Compromises and eventually a path that is comfortable. The tension of harnessing wildness in a bubble. Not the caged animal in a zoo relentlessly pacing up and down but light bouncing off the walls creating Northern Lights of the soul.