"All who wander are not lost," says someone from the Lord of the Rings, probably Gandalf.
How I love that phrase.
It is partly my A.D.D. and the way my mind goes all over the place, and part my need for escape from a stressful life, but I always have the idea in my back pocket of just hopping on a train and going.
I am lucky enough to indulge this whim now and then by hopping on a train and going into New York City for the day -- yesterday my younger daughter and I did the knock-off bag market in Chinatown (scored a great huge black leather purse which will hold EVERYTHING), got some to-die-for Pommes Frites in the East Village, and checked out the Patagonia store, where I wanted to look at a backpack/suitcase that is supposed to be able to check on planes, but also hold everything I would need including a computer. (yeah, right.)
I didn't buy it, I just needed to look at it and dream.
It seems silly, maybe, but I know what I need and I need to often imagine taking off into the world with nothing but a backpack, a plane ticket, my journal, and the freedom to wander; even if I can't actually do it, at least right now.
It is my conviction that much of the art and novels we have exist because the writer/artist needed this escape in the brain - to imagine a completely other place and to immerse oneself in this place - it really is wonderful to do this.
My journal is where I record lots of these fantasies and ideas.
And I couldn't resist this cover of the New Yorker becoming part of this page - so funny!