Wanderlust and When I Was Younger...

When I was younger, "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey played non-stop. It was on the radio and played at every party on every weekend when I was a 19 year old sophomore in college. I’d loved Journey since high school and this new song was just made for slow dancing. Or so it was to us!

Hearing this song now, reminds me of a dream I had all those years ago. And I’m not talking about a sleeping dream. It was an actual dream, much more than a daydream even. At 19, I was a spirited kid with a severe case of wanderlust. 

I wanted to travel.

I grew up in a family where education was a primary focus and money, at times, was an issue. My parents, two generations removed from the whole immigration thing, wanted to give my brother and I opportunities they never had. Like travel possibly?

Of course there was no doubt in my mind that they'd indulge my true desires and already made plans for the summer between my junior and senior year in college (well before the age of required internships and resume building).

So after careful thought and planning with two of my college girlfriends, we put together a rough itinerary for a two and a half month backpacking trip through Europe. The finances and costs were laid out (guesstimated of course). My friends already got their "Go!". I was the last one to approach “the parents” because, in reality, I knew what their answer would be.

“No.” It wasn’t even a wiggly "no". It was flat out "NO". Exclamation point added for emphasis!

As I’d had a history of doing, I pressed for solid reasons. I could debate even back then 'cause I thought I was soooo smart. Excessive pressing never worked or helped my causes. "No" always meant "no".

“It’s too dangerous for girls. We don’t know anyone who’s done that before. We don’t care if Cindy and Angela’s parents said ‘yes’. You don’t have money for that (but yes, I did). You’re not going.”

“But, but…..”  I stammered. And I had a long list of but this's and but that's!

My dream was squashed within moments.

The two of them, went on without me.

Fast forward 30 years…….

“Honey, you know my answer and I think you’ve laid out your facts well.  I can tell you girls have spent a lot of time getting your ducks in a row. And having the rough costs and itinerary mapped out is important. You know what you have to do now. And, no, I won’t ask for you.”

Even though it was an uphill push in this household for a short period of time ("I never did that when I was her age!" he said), I was even more excited when her dad called to tell her, “Yes. You can go.”

I’m thrilled my daughter will see her dream come to fruition and live my dream from 30 years ago. Backpacking in Europe for two month. Take lots of photos, girls!!!

While my wanderlust, especially for travel, still remains as intense and seductive as ever, I have new dreams. Wishes I’m trying to make happen right at this very minute.

I’m still spirited; just not a kid anymore if we are speaking in terms of chronological age, that is. And "No" is still a tough word for me to swallow.

I’m okay, now, with the answer I got so many years ago.

I'd have loved to go with three cool chicks “when I was younger…”

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2.) Write something that begins and ends with the words “When I was younger”. (inspired by writingfix.com)


It All Started With A Note...

On the kitchen counter asking her, “Please remember to go to the bank.” When had she forgotten to do anything?

Her frustration goes back quite a ways but not so far that she’s forgotten how happy she was not too long ago. She didn’t feel trapped by her life but devoid of choices. She only made those best for everyone. Everyone else.

Standing before him requesting a $10,000 cashier’s check, the teller failed to ask for identification. They knew her but usually did anyway. Instead of scolding the young man, she filed the information away.

Accompanying him to their security deposit box for the deed to the house, she grabbed it and her passport.

From that point forward, the decision had been made, in her mind. And a very short time spent on the phone determined which flight and when.

A word was never said to anyone (not true, except to her) although she had mentioned it in passing to him just one time before. She’d leave a note saying “Please don’t worry”.

A small bag was all she needed to grab when the taxi pulled into the driveway. It was the beginning of “her” life again for as short as that would be.

Pulling up curbside to the International Terminal, she sat frozen for what seemed like an hour until “Joe” startled her saying, “Mrs. F.?”

Next thing she really recalled was the family sitting down for dinner at 6:00 just as they always did. The only evidence, of anything, was her ripped up note deep in the bottom of a trashcan in the garage.

Calling her at dusk after the dishes, “Meet me in the street.” Where they always did.

The first words out of her friend’s mouth were, “You couldn’t do it.”

“Come with me.", she said.

“Where?”

“Paris.”

“I hate Paris.”

“Spain. But on the water.”

“Spain is perfect.”

Ten days later, they were sipping Rojo at a table in the Barri Gotic district of Barcelona.

Comfortably silent, happy, alone in their thoughts.