I've been a wanderer most of my life. (Though I've really stayed put the last ten years.). I didn't plan it that way. But all along through grown up life the need to make a living kept me moving on. Sometimes it was in order to get a decent job. Other times the job itself kept me on the road.
Mostly I liked it. And mostly I'm glad I did it. I liked, for instance, being 800 miles from home yet still knowing the neighborhood I was in at the time. I can still travel from the Great Lakes to the southeastern USA by dead reckoning better than anyone I know. Not that I've had any need to do so. I've got no motive and they wouldn't try. But I know the roads and the geography well enough.
There was one thing, though, that I really didn't like at all. When I was on the road too long and strangers were the only people I had any interaction with, I got to feeling as though I were living in a world of ghosts.
It's not that they weren't friendly. And I never forgot that these were real people who cared about their lives, worried for their loved ones and hoped that fate would be kind to everyone. And I agreed with them. But they just didn't seem as 'real' to me as my family and neighbors.
Now I've retired. And I might just sell my house and belongings and live in a small RV out roaming about for the rest of my time. And I can certainly hear to road calling me. I probably won't be a true nomad. More likely a snowbird. I like the idea of spending summers somewhere up near Lake Superior where the sun isn't so overwhelming and spending my winters in some place fairly mild. It wouldn't need to be truly warm. But if I could go outside without dressing like Neil Armstrong on the moon, that'd be just fine. Yet I am apprehensive about wandering a world of ghosts again.
But I can also tell that I'm at risk of the same thing if I stay. The old-timers who were here when I bought this house nearly thirty years ago are almost all passed on. The very few remaining are too frail now to make appearances in the neighborhood. The youngsters who have moved in don't know my history here and they have other interests anyway. It's okay. I understand. But it's still a pity; I could tell them things that would benefit them. But they don't realize it and can't conceive it. So I can only afford to be a cheerful presence. But not an active one.
No point going to my original home. Those friends I kept in contact with have passed on and so has my extended family. There are a few relatives left. But they're strangers.
So whether I stay put, establish a new home or hit the road I'm gonna find myself in a world of ghosts in any case. Melancholy conundrum, isn't it?
It seems that less detailed social interaction with humanity actually is one of the prices paid for a long life, isn't it? Not that it's all bad; I'm eager to reach the state of not having to deal with humanity's shenanigans as well. And I've spent decades wishing I had more time to watch the stars and to watch the animals living their lives. That wonderful freedom is opening up before me right now.
Oh, well.......this thread is about the art of wandering. And I've managed to wander more or less off topic.
Sorry about that!
