Travels, To and Fro (Part 1: "Fro")

Let us wander where we will,
Something kindred greets us still;
Something seen on vale or hill
Falls familiar on the heart;
So, at scent or sound or sight,
Severed souls by day and night
Tremble with the same delight -
Tremble, half the world apart.

-excerpt from Swallows Travel To and Fro by Robert Louis Stevenson

I spent most of my 20's single. In fact, I pretty much went a decade without a girlfriend. I'm not afraid of being alone. I'm tempted to say that I'm not even terribly afraid of being with the "wrong" person - I don't really believe there are right or wrong people. That value judgement is better applied to duration. You see, towards the end of that decade I learned the value of short term relationships. I had pretty much "resigned" (for lack of a better word) myself to the fact that that was what I was probably going to be dealing with for the rest of my life. And I relished it! During my first adventure, in Japan, I met, and had a short but wonderful fling with a woman there. It was then that I - half jokingly - thought that it would be great to travel the world and get to know different countries through their women. "The Littlest Hobo of Love!"

I've never exactly been much of a Don Juan. In fact, on my next adventure, while working in France, I realized that mine is not exactly an immediate charm - more of an acquired taste. I flew to Bergerac and was picked up and brought to the chateau (along with an Australian couple who had also just arrived) by "Claudine", the nanny. I didn't know it at the time, but "Sonya", the woman who we were working for, had it in mind that I might be a bit of a "companion" for the Claudine. (Sonya hadn't previously met me, we'd only talked over the phone.) Anyway, during the ride, we had all been talking. I don't remember what it was I talked about, but it was enough for the nanny to tell Sonya that I wasn't to have the bedroom beside hers after all, to just give it to the Australian couple. Now, I only know all of this because, after having spent some time there, we actually did end up hitting it off. Like I said - an acquired taste. It makes meeting people while traveling a bit of a challenge.

Of course, as soon as you think you've got something figured out in life... Well I met this woman. We'll call her..."Leslie." "I don't want a relationship," she said. "No meeting the families." "Just sex." She knew all the right things to say. (She also said she doesn't cry - pfft! Just throw on "84 Charing Cross Road" to watch the tears fly. Or "Casper" for crying out loud.) Nevertheless - sex we had, relationship we had, families we met... and tears we cried.

Five years, multiple break-ups, a dog and four apartments later... it was finally time to leave. Or rather, I'd prefer to say "go." This journey - if you will - isn't about leaving. It's not Leslie, or the dog, or even Halifax that I'm leaving. Actually, even "go" isn't the right word. I'm not "going" anywhere. I have no destination. I'm on an experiment. I've been accused over the years (mostly by my mother) - as have many who have done the same thing - of "running away." I've never felt that way. It's simply not true. I have nothing from which to run away. Not even myself.

It hit me yesterday, during an exchange of messages with my friend and pseudo traveling partner, Pat. In his blog, he talked about surfing, both literally and metaphorically. The reason I'm on this trip is because some part of me feels that there has to be a better way of living than the one we're all taught. I'm not sure what it is, but that's what I hope to discover. Lately I've been thinking about life as having 2 ways of living it. The first, and the most common, would be a type of surfing. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" "Well, I'm gonna be a doctor, have a nice car and a nice family." He'll go to school, do his best to meet someone and ride that wave to the shore. That will be good for him. He'll be happy. We are all told that that is how it's done. For years I've been struggling to do the same. Problem is, I don't see a wave that I'm particularly interested in riding. That's where the second route comes in. For others, instead of getting off at the shore, they ride the currents. They follow them through the oceans, wherever they're led. If they are wise, they know how to stay afloat and not drown. They don't fight the current. They don't try to ride to shore.

Leslie and I are different in many ways. I was telling someone I'd met the other day that, based on my own tastes, chances are I could predict hers. If I like something, she wouldn't, and vice-versa. Does that make for a "wrong" match? Or do opposites attract? Does it matter? Despite having left a few weeks ago, I don't feel like we've broken up. I don't feel "single." One could claim that, because it's only been a few weeks, I'm just feeling withdrawal, but I don't think that's it. There is an anxiety that comes with withdrawal that I simply don't feel.

I wrote to her the other day that I'm not searching for the "who", but the "what." If I've discovered it - if my theory is right, and I'm a drifter while she's a surfer - what does that mean? "Love" isn't the issue. (I'm sorry, but it doesn't conquer all.) Nor is it a question of faithfulness - the thought of meeting another is far from my mind. She has said that she is okay with my traveling. But for what kind of time period? How often, and for how long will the currents bring me around to her shore? Too long?

She lamented that I didn't mention her in either of my posts since I started out. I told her that I couldn't write about her until there was some kind of conclusion. It's funny, I sat down tonight, only to get down a few thoughts, and here I am - this "Hobo of love" - without a conclusion. "Maybe tomorrow..."