Thank You, Parker Posey

In fifth grade, twenty years old seemed ancient. The adult world with its freedoms and noise appeared an unreachable golden ring. I'd stare at distant airplanes, imagining the faraway adventures adults everywhere else but here  seemed to enjoy. I'd been as far as the Jersey shore, but I couldn't wait to see all the world held on the other side of the murky Atlantic. 

By sixth grade I started to feel a bit like Allison Reynolds (thank you, Ally Sheedy. Thank you, most of all, John Hughes). There's a beautifully sad scene in the Breakfast Club where the group mocks her desire to run away and she argues, mostly to convince herself of the possibilities: "I can run away and I can go to the ocean, I can go to the country, I can go to the mountains. I could go to Israel, Africa, Afghanistan."  

photo credit: picslist.com

At the time, Afghanistan wasn't even on my radar... how exocitc. How exciting. Her overwhelming urge to break free and break into the wide world was palpable. My youth anchored me to the mundane, my every move predetermined by the adults dictating my day. I wanted to fast forward to womanhood, to sail into vast sea of possibilities. 

Like a prisoner, I was willing to tunnel my way out of my caged existence. Armed with nothing but one of my mom's flimsy silver spoons, I crouched at the base of our communal mailboxes with my best friend and her spoon. We dug through the mulch and rocky soil, chatting about the adventures we'd have when we arrived at whatever place was on the other side of our tunnel, China we supposed. We dug into the late hours of the afternoon, our progress halted by unforeseen circumstances.

We had no formal tunnel training and knew nothing of engineering a proper international passageway. We were oblivious to everyone and everything else- we had total focus, which probably explains why we didn't notice the lilting mailbox. About two feet into our efforts, the mailbox collapsed- 10 tenant's bills and BMG music offers crashed around us. Just like that, we were no longer adventurers-- we were vandals. Vandals in very deep trouble. But trouble, like childhood, does not last forever.

On the cusp of forty, I still long for travel adventures. I boarded an airplane for the first time at twenty-five and basked in Florida sunshine. I've since laughed through a road trip to Vermont, cruised Royal Caribbean with dear friends, honeymooned in the Riviera Maya, and stood in awe at Niagara Falls. At least once a year we travel to New Orleans, my soulmate-- there I imagine that I'm as close to Europe as a person can be without crossing the pond. 

I daydream about island hopping in Greece, sipping sangria in Madrid, and falling in love with Michelangelo as I marvel at the fruit of his misery in Vatican City. Turns out the freedom of the adult world that I fantasized about as a kid exists only for those who can afford it, a reality I embrace and accept in the spirit of Parker Posey's character, Liz, featured on Louie. 

Photo credit: Reddit.com

After Liz, who nearly died as a child, and Louie, a hilarious hard luck case, frantically frolic through a magically Manhattan moment, the two share their dreams. Liz, like me, yearns to travel to a far off place. Louie tells her she should just do it- just go pursue her dream. In a moment of beautifully poignant wisdom and writing, she answers that she will never go. For her the desire and longing have become a thing of beauty. It's the want of it that fills some deep internal crack.

Maybe one day I'll get to live the itinerary etched under my skin. Maybe I won't. The adventure that I now seek is within. Freedom doesn't come from external travel- that would be too easy. The more I journey inward, the more liberated and excited I become.