Wanderlust

Home is a strange place for those of us who are perpetual wanderers.

I have always had a concept of home. Home is where your family is. Where you store all your childhood memories. Where you climbed the trees and built Lego forts. Where even the smells are familiar. Fresh baked bread and laundry soap.

I  think that there is a funny difference between home as a place and home as an entity. I don't miss my home because of the house or the town I miss it because of the people, the memories, the smells, the comfort of innocence.

As I grow up more and more, I realize the strangeness of "home". I have had more than one home in the past four years. From the dorms at MSU, to my hut in Africa,  to the U-haul in Seattle. Each of them has been a separate and unique experience. With each one however, I experienced "homesickness". I am sure you have experienced this as well. That feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes you want to curl up in your mamma's  embrace and breathe deep.

What is it that makes us feel this way? When I was a teenager, I couldn't wait to get out of my house. Out of that silly one horse town , out of the country, out of the world! When I did though, I was surprised to feel a twinge of remorse that I didn't appreciate "home" as much as I should have.

I remember when I was tiny (probably eight or ten) my sisters, some neighborhood kids and I, planned to run away together. We packed our backpacks with all the essentials, beany babies, Ramona books, gram-crackers and peanut butter for survival. Most important were our baby dolls, whose souls and lives had been entrusted to us passionate young mothers. Our plan was flawless. We were going to sneak out at ten o'clock on a Tuesday and  head for the hills! (one of the neighborhood kids had a family cabin in the forest and we were sure no one would find us there) When the scheduled night came, I remember being so anxious. I stayed up all night long pretending that I was asleep when my parents would peek in. To my horror, I woke up in my bed the following morning! I had missed it! I had fallen asleep for real.

The neighborhood gang all met up that afternoon. We all sheepishly gathered around and made excuses as to why none of us had showed up. "Running away is for stupid teenagers" "I really don't want to leave my dog, he would miss me" and such. We then moved on to the next adventure of building a functional battleship in my back yard.( I say functional because we had running water thanks to the garden hose).

 The failed collaborative running away was never mentioned again. However from that point on there was always the possibility that my life could be an adventure. Home was a place that you left behind. In my mind all of the things that made me angry were part of this idea of "home". I was going to escape from there in a burst of adventure and romance.

My wanderlust is still not satiated. Even after stargazing in Texas, serving the unfortunate in Africa, visiting the pyramids in Mexico, traipsing through the Edinburgh castle..... For all the wanderings and homesickness, I still felt out of place when I came back to Montana.

 I recently fulfilled my childhood vision of running away in the middle of the night. It took me slightly longer to get ready. I was also a bit more prepared this time. I didn't bring my doll along. My friend and I spent the better part of a month road- tripping down Highway 101. I had nothing but what was in my backpack...I have never been so satisfied with life than I was knowing that I didn't have a plan. Camping on the beach. People watching in tourist towns. Enjoying a campfire with a new friend. Chilling on a horse boarding farm/campground. It was epic.

I ended up running out of money in Seattle...which is why I got a job and stayed. I was on an adventure high... until I began to feel that familiar twinge in my belly. Time to go home.

This time however, home had a new feeling. A feeling of appreciation for the love and memories that surrounded my childhood. I used to carry around this nebulous emotion of discontent when I had been home before. I know now that without that discontent I never would have pushed myself to become a wanderer.

I think I know now why that little girl (with all the romantic running away plans) inside me still speaks. She knows that the world is full of beauty and heartache all in one. She knows that there is an adventurer in everyone. I think the reason I continue to wander is that I always secretly listened to her. I never let her voice be drowned out by the expectations of the american dream.

To some of you this post will be like listening to a burned out hippy rattle on about world peace. I hope however that in some of you it strikes up a curiosity. Maybe even a motivation to start quieting the noise in your life. Take the time remember that radical kid you used to be. The one who wanted to be an astronaut. The one who wanted to be a noodle maker. The wanderer.


Peace.

Cally Jane

Thoughts about falling

I have been thinking about falling in love. What is it that causes a person to do so. Better yet at what point do you know that you are in love? Is it like a wave of energy that hits you? Like a LAZER beam straight to the heart?

I think I have been in love before. I remember the exact moment that it happened. It was like a switch was flipped in my brain. One moment I was fine and the next I had some kind of rare stomach illness whenever I looked at his face or heard his name spoken. However permanent that moment is in my memory, I don't recall the exact time that the feeling of being in love left me. Strangely enough it was not the moment that my heart was broken. No, love continued for a long while after. It finally dissipated into a barely noticeable feeling of choked admiration.

I think love might be like atomic matter. You can't create it or destroy it. It just shifts forms. 

I hate it when I have to identify myself as "single" because I know how many "single" people there are out there. I think instead I am going to say that I am a part of the "uncoupled multitude". It sounds less lonely.

Today I was sitting on a bus with my nose in a book. I was deeply involved in my thoughts about midwifery (such was the subject of my book) when onto the bus steps an old wrinkled couple. I caught my breath when I looked at them because there, bent and withered, holding hands, stood an incarnation of love. They shuffled to a seat. The man, winking and pretending to tip his hat to her, helped her into a seat by the window. She beamed up at him and gave him a blushing smile and an answering wink. I don't know why seeing those two hurt my heart whilst simultaneously filling it up with hope. 

What is it that causes us to search for love? Today in the newspaper I skimmed through the "missed connections" section and witnessed a hundred broken hearts trying to find somebody with some glue.

Last week after a particularly lonely night with only a movie, a glass of wine and a bowl of ice cream to keep me company... I woke up to a text message from my lovely big sister informing me of a free trial period for Match.com. We have dating websites and matchmaking websites, speed dating, mail order brides and arranged marriages. Everyone is looking for someone. All my siblings have found someone.

 I am scared. I'm not scared of being alone. I'm good at being alone. I am scared of being with someone who doesn't get it. Someone who doesn't understand how much I love tea. Someone who doesn't know that for me being absolutely covered in flour and pulling a creation out of the oven is probably right about when I am happiest. Someone who reads my poems. Knows that I'm self conscious about my feet, that my favorite candy is cinnamon bears and that my secret favorite song is by Pink of all people.

So I have resolved to find him. But I don't know where to start. I am NOT joining a dating website. I CAN live without him. I'm not broken up about being alone. I'm not completely and utterly lonely. I am merely curious to meet the person that will find it interesting rather than disturbing that all my paintings have skeletons in them. I want to find my missing puzzle piece. The mirror to my reflection. The obligatory laugh  to my cheesy one liner.

I'm going to look everywhere. Like in the grocery store. At the bus stop. In the pub drinking bourbon,talking about Isaac Asimov  Maybe you have wonky British teeth and a leather jacket. Maybe I make you coffee three times a day. He that maketh me to stumble over mine own words? Maybe I rode on the back of your motorcycle. I will find you. I would rather you found me first.

This is all very confusing. Looks to me like the only people who have love figured out are the lucky ones in relationships and filmmakers who create chick flicks. 

For now I am just Cally Jane. I am not in love. Not yet.

~Cally Jane