I've been gently chided that I haven't posted here lately. : )
I've been reading lately, instead of writing. I'm on an adventure story kick. I've read "Into the Wild", "Alive", "Adrift", "Touching the Void", all stories of tragedy. I've ordered about five more. I plow through them in a day or two, like my little girl through a box of chocolates! I also have a penchant for disaster movies. I recognize in myself the heart of an adventuress, without the supporting circumstances to put it to the test. It's interesting to me that many of the mountain climbers and sailors have the same encumbrances of family and jobs and daily duties as do we all, yet they risk them for the thrill they seek. Therein lies the difference. However, I know from past experiences that I have the heart.
This is not to say that I don't have my dreams. I quite often would love to escape my humdrum, routine oriented and mundane existence. I love latin music and immerse myself in it on my way to and from work, seeing another me boldy traveling alone throughout Mexico, becoming a fluent Spanish speaker and connecting with the warm and genuine people I grew to love when I lived in a border town. I see "me" with whole knees once again, climbing hundreds of stairs to the top of a ruin. I see "me" hiking through mountain passes, diving into the sea from rocky cliffs and dancing with dark-eyed strangers.
I am reminded of a Neil Young song. It goes, "I'm a dreaming man. Yes, that's my problem. I can't tell when I'm not being real." Except I can tell. The piles of laundry, dirty dishes and errands on my to-do list bring me right back.
Keeping it real--the phrase has a different meaning to a mom!