Runyan Canyon is a park above Sunset at the foot of the hills that separate the Valley from Los Angeles. I go here often to run, hike, do outdoor yoga and the like. My favorite portion of my routine lasts a mere 10 seconds as I run the decline back to my car. The road winds and winds and at the 4th or 5th bend, the city completely disappears behind the mountains. I relish in my fleeting escape; away from the constant gaze of the cityscape, I imagine I'm somewhere else. I like to think I'm running a tiny path that wraps around the Andes Mountains in Peru, or maybe a warm range in the arid mediterranean.
As much as I love my life here, I can't help ward off the familiar pangs of my wanderlust. To pick up and start over. To allow my roots to unfurl into nothing but seedlings of a new adventure. The prospects are quite appealing.
All the places I could see, the people I could say hello to,
the love I could encounter,
the loss I could feel,
the time I could waste,
the things I could neglect and forget.
Even the bad things sound kind of good. There's something comforting in loosing myself and living without ties and responsibility. I think I sometimes have an aversion to responsibility. I also think you could find a few people who might confirm this.
Like anything else, this lifestyle would age quickly and I'd want the comfort and security of a rooted life once again. So, I'll try less dramatic prescriptions and smaller dosages than a move around the world. I think I'll take up Spanish lessons or plan a road trip. Those sound like more responsible choices
Still, getting lost somewhere does sound nice now and again. I doubt that feeling will ever find its way from me.
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