I’ve been on the fritz lately.  A little light-headed, a little bit spaced-out (as in, cadet) and a lit of bit restless.  The spring is creeping in and the weather is getting warmer and the sun’s been shining on my face and beckoning me out.  It teases and charms, but by itself, it’s a  pale and gaunt mistress.  When set against the backdrop of my Now, it just barely coaxes me away from the impending funk I can feel floating just beyond my periphery.

There’s a Despair that looms just around the corner and I’ve got to be careful to keep on moving so that it can’t close the distance.  In it’s lint-filled pocket, a grimy hand closes around a cancerous pit of an idea:  “What if we never get out of here?”  I make desperate lists of places that I want to see, that can take me away for a day or two or four at a time, knowing that my light grows the further and longer I’m apart from this succubus of a town—like the wick on a gaslamp turned up against the darkness.

How many hours to the coast?  The Oregon Coast?  Would it be easier from here? Or a plane ride.  Yes!  A farther jaunt.  An accumulation of frequent flyer miles.  How much to Salt Lake?  Or Phoenix, or San Diego?  It’s awe that I need/crave/thirst for….to be struck dumb….to have an experience that will whitewash this mildew-ridden mediocrity that I’ve been living.  This isn’t HOME and my soul is once again reaching out, grasping for worth and gasping for air.

Don’t ask what it is that will satisfy.  Some days, I imagine that its scent floats on the wind ahead of it, like lilac blooms on early spring mornings.  Others, it’s a train that I run along side, reaching hard as I sprint, only to have the bars just touch my fingertips as it pulls away.  I feel like I am losing time–just missing something that is obvious and grand.  Too little too late for the party that everyone else will be raving about on Monday.

There is something out there just for me, and it beckons…a flickering light through the fog.  I’m squinting very hard now, but can’t make it out.  I’m wishing for a sign, a star, a sigh or a glimpse.  Something.  Anything.  A hint or a clue that I’ll get there and that the journey and unease are merely the tickets to ride.