I never left home.
I never packed a bag and wandered out the front door on my way to what I could only imagine would be a better place.
No.
I never ran away.
Because I never wanted to leave.
But my sister did.
She wasn't more than five when she packed a bag complete with an extra pair of underwear, a jacket, and her favorite stuffed animal: a bunny wearing a pink dress with bows tied around her ears.
She walked out of the bedroom we shared as little girls, took a right down the green carpeted hallway, and then another to the front door, where to her surprise our mom was sitting in the dining room to her left quietly reading a novel.
Upon seeing my baby sister with a backpack weighing her down and her white blonde hair matted in eight different directions asked:
"Morgan, what are you doing?"
"I'm running away" she declared matter-of-fact-ly
(Sweet little girl didn't realize you don't announce to the people you are running from that you are indeed running from them.)
"So then where are you going" my mother continued to question
"To Grandma Gailing's house" she replied...
Sweet little Margo never made it to our grandparent's house in Orange County - a 30 minute car ride and who knows how long of a walk away.
In fact, she never made it out the front door.
As a little girl, my sister attempted to run away.
She was convinced there was a place better than home.
(Whether or not that belief was the result of 3 persuasive older siblings is irrelevant, she wanted to run, so she ran.)
She wanted something different, something new, something that would bring her happiness.
Okay, maybe she just wanted to visit our grandparents who had an endless supply of hershey kisses and peanuts, a piano, The Goose and the Golden Egg on VHS, and paperweights in every shape with stacks of paper for tracing.
(Seriously, who wouldn't want to be there?!)
But lets pretend that she wanted something different, something new, something that would bring her increased happiness.
For her, that was Grandma's.
I bet she doesn't remember running away.
But I remember her running away.
________
As I revel in my new found freedom I often dream of running
But to where? With whom? When? How?
It isn't as simple as packing a backpack complete with an extra pair of underwear, a jacket, and my favorite stuffed animal: a tiger with endless holes from too much love that still has a home on my bed today.
Running doesn't constitute walking out the front door and making my way to Grandma Gailing's house.
Running is no longer black and white; cut and dry. It is not simply deciding that leaving is better than staying.
It is an internal battle. Self betrayal. Maybe even giving up?
Running doesn't constitute a change of pace, it is starting over.
Leaving everything behind, reinventing myself, getting lost in the possibilities of what could be..
.. not being stuck in what currently is.
It involves long conversations with my parents, siblings, and best friends.
Searching Craigslist for apartments in Washington DC, houses in Santa Monica, and careers abroad.
It is counting, and recounting every penny I've managed to save.
And cursing myself for each nickel I decided to spend.
It is weighing the pros and cons.
The opportunities and limitations.
It is going to bars, meeting new people, getting drunk, and making stupid decisions.
Then reliving those nights with my surrogate family, deciding what to do next.
It is wonderful nights and devastating days.
Meandering around town searching for the perfect spot of spend my free time.
It is arguments resulting in tears followed by apologies - giving me all the more reason to want to run.
It is my heart fighting my brain.
My body fighting my spirit.
It is a constant teeter totter.
Back and forth.
I should go.
I should stay.
________
I was a quiet child, content with where I was at all times.
I spent a lot of time by myself, reading, imagining, dreaming.
I preferred coffee to alcohol.
Books to parties.
My parents to boyfriends.
I loved home.
Absolutely loved it.
Even now, 4 years after leaving my beloved home.
I prefer coffee shops to bars.
My best friends to boys.
Movies to nights out.
Do I deal?
Or do I run?
Spontaneity has never been one of my strong suits. But maybe it is time for something different.
Maybe I should learn from my once 4 year old sister. Pack up all my belongings, drop them off in Chino, and head North...
To Santa Monica?
To Dc?
To Italy?
There will always be a $200,000 loan shark tailing me.
Just like there will always be drunken nights, broken hearts, regretful decisions, irritating roommates, lonely days spent in coffee shops, and ridiculous nights at work.
Maybe it is time
Or just the lack of sunshine.
Maybe it is my never ending curiosity
Or my susceptibility to stir-crazy-ness.
Maybe it is my new found freedom and change of mind-set
Or my being fed up with my brain working over time.
I want so desperately to run. But deep down I know running wont bring me any closer to what I'm searching for.
Perhaps I'll just settle for the possibility of gaining new perspectives when I go to North Carolina in August. New York in October. Spain in May.
I'm reluctant to stay.
And reluctant to leave.
I need direction.
Where to go and what to do.
I need freedom.
From this internal battle and self-betrayal.
But until then...
You can find me in one of many coffee shops in San Diego.
With my nose in a book, Donavon Frankenreiter in my ears, and my brain in a cloud of possibilities.
My sister ran away once,
And I've yet to follow her footsteps.
