Step One: Go away. Go far, far away and then do it
again. And again. And again. Wander until nothing feels satisfying but the wandering,
and then wander some more. Come home, exhausted but still somehow reluctant,
and dream about the next time you get to leave.
Step Two: I cannot stress this enough – get a motorcycle.
Now that you’ve built the wandering into your soul, you’ll need something to
satisfy the craving when you can’t wander far. Part of you will always feel, at
least a little, like a caged animal now when you become too idle. The growl of
the bike underneath you, the feel of the wind on every part of you, and the
satisfaction in knowing that there is danger in this, but the danger is
minimized by your own careful practice and growing proficiency, will be one of
the few things that makes your blood sing with freedom.
Step Three: Spend a day idle. You will feel so exhausted,
at this point, that it seems the thing to do, the thing you should want. Feel
the agitation build. Take your bike out once, with a destination in mind.
Reaching that destination and coming back will keep you satisfied through lunch,
at which point the new energy from the meal will allow restlessness a new
chance to settle in. Take your bike out again, and think you have a new
destination, if less concrete.
Step Four: Get lost, but not too lost. Get lost enough
to sweep the certainty out from under your tires, but not lost enough for
anything to be unrecognizable. No, you are getting just lost enough to find
something new in the old. Ride down the whole length of the street before
realizing you’ve missed your turn, turn around, and miss it again. Then give up
on the destination when you remember there wouldn’t be a good place to park,
anyway. Remember when your dad dropped you off there for a day of kayaking with
your Girl Scout troop. Remember a return to that place years later, now years
in the past, to canoe with your dad one last time before leaving for college.
Things that seemed so new and insurmountable then feel routine and small now.
Step Five: Go back to someplace you know, or at least
think you know. Feel comfortable and confident again and go just a little bit
faster, not fast enough for real danger, but fast enough for a thrill. You know
this place. You are this place. The thought I
never belonged here is a hungry vine that’s been twisted around your roots
for years. It falls away now as you instinctively lean into curves and avoid
potholes that weren’t visible around the bend, because they’ve always been
there and you know where the imperfections live. You are part of this place and
this place is part of you; neither you nor the place can escape that fact. It’s
time, for the moment at least, to embrace it.
Step Six: Despite your confidence, miss your amended
destination entirely. Never even pass it, but unerringly recognize the road.
Maybe you got a detail or two mixed around, should’ve taken a right rather than
a left where the road you’re on connected to the one you came from to get where
you meant to go, but it’s still your road. Feel an unending well of delight at
the newness here, the things you forgot over the years to appreciate. Nothing
here has changed, but you have. You’ve changed so much, and that doesn’t need
to lead to aggravating clichés about how wanderers like you can never come
home. That is a lie crafted to sooth the ill feelings of those who learned to
wander, but never learned to listen, never learned to stop looking and start seeing.
Step Seven: Think about the father who spent your
childhood feeding you scraps of freedom until you had a taste for it, the thing
that drives you more than anything else now. Think about the stepmother who
taught you kindness like no other, the tool of compassion that has allowed you to
settle yourself into everywhere you go so fully. Think of the brother who fed
your ambitions, and the mother who built up your dreams. Appreciate the roots
that hungry vine never managed to choke and everything they still tie you to. Start
seeing your home the way you see everything else, with the fresh eyes of a
wanderer, someone delighted by the world and eager to soak it in.
