Lately I’ve been entertaining thoughts of running away. Not on vacation, but truly running away. Putting only what I truly need and love into a couple of suitcases, grabbing the dog and her kennel and going someplace I’ve never lived before. New job. New life. Everything new and shiny.
I know this isn’t good. When I get in a funk, I don’t entertain thoughts of hurting myself or suicide. I don’t drink to get drunk. Instead I entertain thoughts of running away. It’s escapism in a different form. ‘Cause really, that’s what all these thoughts and behaviors are about: escape. Right now I want to escape my life. So I fantasize about running away and what my shiny new life would be like.
I know intellectually it’s just a geographic cure, and what’s really bothering me deep down and the frustration I’m feeling can’t be cured by a move. But lately the idea of a shiny new life someplace else, where I can start fresh and reinvent myself and my life, is so appealing I find myself imagining where I would go, what I would do. What state I want to live in this time. What city. Maybe a different country or continent. Maybe a new career. Maybe something that doesn’t involve libraries at all.
Then reality smacks me upside the head and I’m back sitting in front of my computer staring at yet another spreadsheet, a resource with a problem of some sort, and four new emails.
Hmm. Maybe Europe…I’ve never been to Europe…