Run, Hilary, Run

Today while I was reading one of my favorite blogs, Girls Gone Child, she discussed some emotion-provoking things. Now, as a general rule, I avoid letting my emotions guide my decisions. However, being human, and female, I sometimes fail. She discuses her nostalgia resulting from the moment that mommy-her and young woman-her collide while costume shopping for her kids. Like in the movies, when Dopplegangers collide, the world explodes, and hers most certainly did. This post left me overrun with feeling, a state I prefer not to find myself.

I believe there are two types of nostalgia; the good and the bad. The good kind comes when you think of playing favorite games with your best friend when you were seven (Kath and I could play Barbie vs. My Little Ponies Armageddon Is Coming from sun up until sun down. We were able to make weapons out of clothing that would amaze even the most hardened criminal), the way the house smelled when your mom cooked Sunday dinner (neither my sister nor I could ever recreate those smells because mom could pick up a can of coconut milk at the store, pull some questionable milk out of the refrigerator, find cornmeal in the cupboard and make a seven-course meal...ask Kath!), and what Gram and Gramp smelled like when you gave them a hug (Gram smelled like her cream foundation, soap, and Certs and Gramp like tar from putting in driveways all day). The bad kind comes when you see something that reminds you of friends you once knew in college or find yourself driving by a common hangout from your 20's and are instantly transported back to that place in your life when you were a completely different person. I wanted to move to England, get a job waiting tables, and fill my small apartment with crappy, second-hand furniture. I wanted to travel around the world completely by myself. In the Girls Gone Child blog, she writes about how she never imagined she'd find herself in the position she currently is; with two kids, a wedding ring on her finger, and a permanent residence. I completely agree.

I always wanted to run away; as far and as fast as I possibly could. I never really tried though, and sometimes still today I feel that need to run creeping through me. I set the stage with Jeremy, telling him that I feel the need to get away, that I'm antsy and feel trapped. The whole time I'm imagining packing up Giovanna and myself and heading into the world; two girls off to grow up on the road. We'll meet thousands of people that will teach us thousands of things; ancient family secrets about living healthy, about being minimalists. We'll learn how to cure headaches with thought, grow berries in an old pair of pants, approach a wild wolf and make him our pet, and cure Giovanna's allergies from having a pet wolf with cream made from our ground up pants berries and the wolf's urine. Yes, we had a lot of exploring to do.

Then, my thoughts are interrupted by my daughter squealing "dada, dada" as she runs around the corner slamming into Jeremy's lap. He asks me what he can do to make me feel comfortable again, rubs my feet with Giovanna's help, all while I sip my apple cider that he's steamed for me to help calm my headache. All of this gets me thinking, maybe I should let me emotions get the better of me. Maybe it's time for mommy-me and young woman-me to meet. I think young woman-me needs a good, hard talking-to. I don't think you ever forget the memories linked to your desires as a young woman, but there comes a time when you realize maybe you weren't right. Maybe you don't really need to know how to cure headaches with the power of positive thinking, or need to domesticate your own wolf, or be taught how to grow pants berries. I mean, I'm sure if I just spent a little extra time on it, I could probably figure out how to grow my own. And if I can't, isn't that what the internet is for?

I'm not sure if I'll ever lose the urge to run, but I need to believe that you reach a time in your life where you realize that running away isn't the only directional option, and alone isn't necessarily the only way to travel. I'll concede that my desire to just go may not be quelled by a tourister's weekend dash through "The Many Ancient Wonders of Rome", but a month in Italy's Tuscany on a mo-ped leasing a small apartment with Jeremy may be just what young woman-me needs.