Run-Away Imagination

Imagination is something I am blessed with having for a characteristic. From a young age I loved to read and would imagine myself in the stories. Dreaming up my own stories was fun too, though seldom did I write them down.

As a child and teenager, I grew up in a household ravaged by alcoholism. My father, now recovering, is an alcoholic and would often drink after work. My mother was angry and tried to control every situation in her own way. This meant there was a lot of yelling and disciplinary actions taken on all of us. When my father would arrive home after the bars closed, there would be more yelling. My mother yelling at my father about drinking and lack of money to pay the bills. As the oldest child I vacillated between ignoring my family by staying in my room reading or imagining ways to take away my younger sisters and brother to escape the world we lived in. I wanted to run away.

"Flight or fight" is a term I learned about in college while taking psychology courses. I quickly recognized that I prefer the flight method of dealing with things in my life versus staying and fighting. When I was eight years old, I ran away from home. Pedaling my bicycle I went about a mile from one house to our former residence after a fight with my mother. She tracked me down hiding in the porch of the house I had lived in for seven of my eight years. I remember sensing that my mother was so contrite about my running away, probably she was embarrassed in front of our old neighbors that her daughter would do such a thing.

Other than imagining the escape of my siblings and I by pulling a wagon with my baby brother to grandma's house which was 20 miles away; I do not recall any specific incidence of wanting to run away until 1977. [Although there were many incidences of my fleeing situations or escaping by drinking alcohol.] On my way to work I would pass over the interstate highway and I would see a sign that a certain city was XX miles that way if you followed the arrow. Day after day, I wanted to just make that turn and head towards that city.

It was not the city that I longed to see or visit, it was the appeal of running away. I never wanted to take anything with me, I just wanted to take my car and go. I wanted to not tell anyone about my leave, as I wanted to go there and start a new life, a different life. But then I would get to thinking about family and friends that would be concerned about my where-abouts. I thought that if I did tell my family where I was (so they would not be worried) that creditors, bosses, landlords, etc would be hounding my parents for information and they would break down and tell them where I was. Then I would have to go back and face the music....abandonment of job and household, overdue bills. So daily, sometimes for weeks on end, I would decide not to take that turn to that city. I would keep going straight to my job. Sooner or later I would change jobs or change places of residence, either home or city. The flight urgency would subside...for awhile.

The urgency to flee has occurred many times since then in my life. I would imagine taking a different road to work and keep on driving. I usually imagined going to a remote location. Someplace desolate, where the chances that the townsfolk would even hear of me missing would be remote. In thinking about some of this escapades, I have even thought of faking amnesia so that I could be totally anonymous even to my new neighbors. You may be thinking, "She's crazy!" Or you may be laughing, "She's nuts!"

Sometimes, I feel that way.... crazy and nuts. Sometimes, I hate myself for these flight feelings that come over me. I do not have a bad or even semi-bad life... I have a wonderful husband, good job, nice home, etc, etc. But the urge to start a new life, the wanderlust, the gypsy in me is there, I can't deny it. Over the years, I have started to recognize that part of my flight feelings has more to do with the gnawing question, "Is this all there is to life?"

My decision to share some of this in my blog is that I have had those feelings again.... keep on driving, don't go to work, pretend you disappeared. The other night the movie, The Family Man was on TV. I had not originally seen the movie and when I read the review I felt I needed to see this movie. Nicolas Cage plays a single, successful Wall Street icon that falls asleep on Christmas Eve and wakes up married to his "old" sweetheart and has a family of two children. The movie reminded me to think of "The Christmas Carol" where the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future come to haunt. The character basically feels and acts like he has amnesia with his "new" family. Sooner or later, he starts adjusting to his new life, even though he was forced into a new life. Neither of the lives of this character were perfect, the before or the after, the old or the new. The theme of the movie struck a chord in me.

It is time to be honest with myself and time to be honest with my husband. Honesty is sometimes very difficult to profess, whether it be in a blog writing or in person. It's not easy to be honest about a character defect that I have, my wanting to flee my life, even a good life at that! But I'm willing to explore it. I am willing to explore my motives for this flight pattern and I am willing to explore ways that I can develop the pattern of staying and fight. I know that part of me wants to escape the trappings of a household and its responsibilities..... utility bills, taxes, rent or mortgage, insurance, furnishings, etc. If I didn't have this or that place to live, I wouldn't have to work (i.e. make as much money to pay for it). Yet, I find myself shopping to buy things to fill up this house and decorate it. I feel like I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't! No, my house is not empty, but my soul is.

Why else would I have to question, "Is this all there is to life?"? Why else would I want to flee an otherwise wonderful life? A Wonderful Life, another Christmas film about being shaken into realizing what we have and how important it is. The more money I make, the bigger house I have, the more prestigious job I have, the more weight I lose, the more years I'm married... all of this has not taken away the feeling of flight. The feeling of emptiness.

I know that there will be comments made about my needing God, Christ, Holy Spirit, Buddha, whatever. That may be right. However, right now, my life feels fuller in just being honest.