SF to London
28 Oct. 2005
London Heathrow Airport.
Leaving was tearful as expected- at least for John and me. The day I left, I pulled him out of his studio to hold him for as long as we both could stand still. He was so worried for my safety, that I would never come back. Traveling feels hollow now, without John and the girls. I was sitting in a London SOHO cafe straight out of a tour guide book - six wrought iron tables inside, three outside - and I kept thinking how they would enjoy seeing Trafalgar Square, or how John and I would sit in Victoria Park. I was starting to relax over a cup of tea when John called and that sinking feeling whipped me back into reality: that I had left them alone at home. Again. Left them to rid myself of the craving for movement, for being in unfamiliar places, for being in the Balkans - a craving that has gripped me for a decade.
I promised them I would not travel for at least six months, hopefully longer. Leaving is too painful. Like the world is sinking. It's because of the DC arrangement. Each departure feels permanent. The trip to New Orleans was just too much. Too much leaving too soon too often. The months we were separated, the NO trip and this journey have congealed into a big slew of remorse. But I also realize that I don't want to travel as much as I thought. Wanderlust is no match for loneliness. There's not as much to escape, either. I've decided to get a job in January or take the internship at CIR if they accept me. I want to cook and clean and walk the girls to school. I just want to stay put for a while. But my career will take me away again. I am a reporter and want to report about the world. I want to live in London some day ad be able to jump in a plane to any country. Mobility. Without mobility is restlessness, a feeling that keeps me moving, looking for the new and different.
London Heathrow Airport.
Leaving was tearful as expected- at least for John and me. The day I left, I pulled him out of his studio to hold him for as long as we both could stand still. He was so worried for my safety, that I would never come back. Traveling feels hollow now, without John and the girls. I was sitting in a London SOHO cafe straight out of a tour guide book - six wrought iron tables inside, three outside - and I kept thinking how they would enjoy seeing Trafalgar Square, or how John and I would sit in Victoria Park. I was starting to relax over a cup of tea when John called and that sinking feeling whipped me back into reality: that I had left them alone at home. Again. Left them to rid myself of the craving for movement, for being in unfamiliar places, for being in the Balkans - a craving that has gripped me for a decade.
I promised them I would not travel for at least six months, hopefully longer. Leaving is too painful. Like the world is sinking. It's because of the DC arrangement. Each departure feels permanent. The trip to New Orleans was just too much. Too much leaving too soon too often. The months we were separated, the NO trip and this journey have congealed into a big slew of remorse. But I also realize that I don't want to travel as much as I thought. Wanderlust is no match for loneliness. There's not as much to escape, either. I've decided to get a job in January or take the internship at CIR if they accept me. I want to cook and clean and walk the girls to school. I just want to stay put for a while. But my career will take me away again. I am a reporter and want to report about the world. I want to live in London some day ad be able to jump in a plane to any country. Mobility. Without mobility is restlessness, a feeling that keeps me moving, looking for the new and different.
posted by A.W. Woodall at 1:43 AM
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