I’m on the run. Although the phrase “on the run” generally refers to a fleeing of some sort or another, I’m not running away. Furthermore, I do not want “on the run” to mean “on the go.” I do not believe in a life of busyness, but in a life of continual discovery.
I’m not on the run from the law or God, not from anything really—unless perhaps grad school, a part time job in the service industry, or egregious student loan payments count. But I'm not on the run to anywhere in particular either—right now Washington D.C., then Quito, Ecuador, and probably places in between and after and during. Nonetheless, I am simply living on the run—the destinations don’t really matter. It’s more about taking some time to live the life of a wayfarer, a vagabond, a gadabout. I am a twenty-something college grad who is unattached, unemployed, and privileged enough to take advantage of family and friends who live in exciting places. So, I am going to do just that.
And, after I find some sort of permanence in the way of employment or continued education—maybe a cat or a compost pile even—I’ll still be a kid on the run. After I am settled and completely at home in a place, I know I will wake up early and Joanna Newsom will sing, “There are some mornings when the sky looks like a road” and I’ll look out the window to realize that I’m still on the run, still living as we all do: in a state of continuous exploration and impermanence.
I’ll write through these wandering blues here, for the benefit and enjoyment—or not—of anyone who chooses to take a gander.