I knew what I wanted and I wanted it quick and without fanfare. I had places to go and people to meet and I didn’t want to get stuck in my home town like so many aimless busboys and waitresses just waiting for the next thing to happen and hope that its a good thing and that it will take them a little further on in life. I didn’t have a plan other than a plan to get out of town. So I figured out how to get out of high school a year early. I worked two jobs to make airfare to Paris and took a a leap of faith into the unknown and never looked back. Amazing my parents let me go at sixteen, but I don’t think they could have stopped me either.
What I wanted I can’t remember. I can’t remember if I wanted a thing or just chased an idea brought on by the haze of coffee house chatter and pseudo intellectual banter from people who never worked a day in their lives and had the leisure to sit in coffee houses by mornings and bars at night with trust funds cushioning their miscalculations.
Now all these years later, lifetimes really, I still don’t know what I want, but their are days when I itch to move on anywhere. I think about closing my eyes and tracing my fingers over the surface of a map then stopping suddenly like musical chairs and where my finger lands I’ll go one last time before the romance of life leaves me.