Freedom coming

[mamculuna]

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

-- J R R Tolkien


Today I was listening to an NPR talk show about American nomads, from the RVs to the trainhoppers, and I had this sudden vision of myself on the road alone--packing a tent and a sleeping bag in my Beetle and hitting the road,

The breath-taking thing is that soon I can do it. The one good thing about getting older is--retirement! Starting in June, the state will send me a pretty good check (not as much as now, but enough) for doing nothing.

Of course I have mixed feelings. I'm afraid that I've gotten addicted to work, to the adrenalin of stress, to the false persona I've created, to not having to face up to the choice of how to spend the day. But I remember that there was life before work. I was a different person then, but maybe part of me is still her.

I deliberately haven't made many plans for next year--maybe a short trip to Italy, definitely some time in Chicago, some time at the beach. Definitely I'll write. And eventually I'll get overwhelmed and want another job to define me and rescue me from freedom, but next year I just want to jump into the cold water and see if I can still swim in reality.

Don't know yet if I'll actually hit the road for a while, but maybe. At least in my mind now I'm driving through back roads in Maine, headed north in the fall to see the leaves turn, the low roads in Louisiana to follow the sun, to visit those folks I haven't seen in so long, staying an extra day where I like, finding that place on the map that looks so strange. Waking up cold and stiff, cooking oatmeal and tea on a little stove while the smoke from the warming fire blows in my eyes...

Roads go ever ever on,
Over rock and under tree,
By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea;
Over snow by winter sown,
And through the merry flowers of June,
Over grass and over stone,
And under mountains of the moon.

Roads go ever ever on
Under cloud and under star,
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
Eyes that fire and sword have seen
And horror in the halls of stone
Look at last on meadows green
And trees and hills they long have known.

Comments

I still have 9 years to go...

[wisewoman.livejournal.com]

I wanna be you!

;o)

Re: I still have 9 years to go...

[mamculuna.livejournal.com]

I wanna be me in 5 months, too--another day like today and I'll quit before I retire.

[wombatina.livejournal.com]

ah! sounds loverly. when my husband and i did a wilderness volunteers trip last summer, we met many retired women on their own. one gal was 74 and had been backpacking and visiting up and down the west coast. and then she came up to the san juans with the rest of us and weilded a mean polaski to remove blackberries. very inspirational.

i was lucky in my late twenties i quit my job and d and i travelled the country for 10 weeks on our motorcycles. that was bliss. well mostly. guess i'll have to wait for another 20 years. sigh.

[mamculuna.livejournal.com]

My first husband and I used to wander around in our truck, coast to coast (we lived in SF Bay Area, had family and friends in New England, South, etc., etc.). Kept the motorcycles for close-by trips, after the memorable one that started from Connecticut, went to Montreal, then to Detroit, where the bike died. We got a drive-away Cadillac (car dealers pay you to deliver), put the BMW in the trunk, and picked up hitchhikers to pay the gas to San Franciso. But that was back in the day...

Glad to hear about the older hikers. I haven't been a distance backpacker, but that sounds appealing--my son does it and I definitely may try it.