The "me" that would just get up and go.
In a car.
Anywhere, any time, any place.
I was reminded about this part of me that's still missing last night in a conversation that centered around loving to drive, and wanderlust. My wanderlust spirit is MIA. Well, my wanderlust is not completely missing. I still "think" about the places I'd like to drive to. I'm just having a hard time locating my courage to "just get up and go...." And my courage is apparently on a field trip somewhere with my wanderlust spirit. I wonder if they got a group rate by taking that trip together.... without me.
- I'd like to visit my son, and my new grandson, who just turned 6 months old.
- I'd like to visit my Mom who can't travel like she used to. Talk about a person with the middle name "GO"!!!
- I'd like to drive to Colorado, and visit my beloved Rockies.
- I'd like to drive out to my friend's farm about 45 miles away and chill with her, and her family, on her big, open porch.
- I'd like to drive to visit my friend Ziggy who has a comedy team that does improv about 4.5 hours away.
- I'd love to drive to PEI (in Canada) to meet a new friend that has overcome many of the PTSD symptoms I am still searching to come to terms with.
- I'd like to drive to my doctor's office without timing my appointment around my fears of when it will be too busy on the highways.
- I'd like to control other drivers on the highway around me. It's the not knowing what they're going to do in the lane next to me or if they are even paying attention to their surroundings that restricts my freedom, my peace of mind.
But I can't help but wonder..... Where is that girl? That girl who used to race the sun on a westbound highway just because she wanted to make it run... Has anyone seen the girl who drove cross country multiple times all by herself--and a couple of times with a Cockatiel riding on her steering wheel that made the truckers honk, and grin... Where is that girl that didn't know fear?
If you see her out there driving in a pack of cars going about 15 miles over the speed limit...
Or cruising with the car radio cranked up full-tilt and singing like she's auditioning for American Idol while she drives down the road...
Or looking confident, and carefree, with a bird sleeping on her shoulder....
Will you tell her to please come home. I really, really miss her. I really do.