Bohemian Musings

I often find myself musing over autonomy… how liberating it must feel to have complete independence.

If only there was a way to broker into such an agreement with The Man Upstairs.

Alas, I fear I am destined to have an unspeakably boring life (for the next while at least,) kissing ass and devoutly praying for next months salary to come through.

Friends, family and people worldwide tell you to ‘just change it,’ or to, ‘just go.’ But it doesn’t work that way!

The sad reality is that my free-spirited, itching set of feet need to stay firmly planted on secure ground right now. I can’t just up-and-leave.

With my luck, I’d be lucky to finally have enough money saved for satisfactory traveling by the time I am fifty; and for me, that’s just too late.

I have this idea in my mind of being this young, beautiful traveler with life-changing stories to bare to people I come across along my unmapped journey.

Visiting Cape Town twice a year just doesn’t constitute to my blatant yearning for new things.

I need Tahiti, Portugal, Spain, Tuscany, India...

I want to dive off of a yacht into the sea of Greece.

I want an aching back from a heavy rucksack slung across my shoulders all day long.

I want to be overwhelmed by the amount of photographs I capture of historic landmarks.

I want blistered toes from hiking unfamiliar ground and I want an utterly perplexed nose from an abundant supply of divine new smells.

I want freedom.

I was meant to jot down, pen on paper, my experiences and share them with the world.

I was meant to dip my toes into all one hundred and thirteen seas and five oceans.

I am not meant to be the kind of person who counts the days on the calendar until next months pay check is due. Hell, I’m not even the kind of person that should know or care what day of the week it is!

Don’t get me wrong – I love my job and I appreciate having it so much in hard times like these… but if life were perfect, things would be different for me, as they would be for everyone.

That stale business man who reeks of caffeine and pours all of his energy into his poor, unsuspecting laptop will be lying on a swinging hammock, moijita in hand.

Your secretary at work who has a build up of papers to file so high that she can’t see the room around her will fling them out of an open window, letting them bluster off into nothingness while she hikes up her skirt and lets her hair loose; for she feels that just a simple night out on the town is like spending a week in Paris.

Already, I have written a novel entirely based  on a woman’s travels to Italy.

Of course, it was built on the bones of my dreams. Actually seeing these places would give me so much more to write about.

I’d like to believe that there is a reason why life isn’t happening the way I would prefer it to be right now.

I like to think that when I am emotionally ready, my dreams will come true.

Somehow.

Someway.

They have to… wanting something this much is different to wanting a new set of nails or having your hair colored.

This is something my soul cries for, day in and day out, I can hear it wailing from deep within.

One day, hopefully soon, I will put my soul at ease.

One day, hopefully soon, I will crack open my savings and see the world.

I’ll throw a dart at a map and travel to wherever it lands.