Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

Wanderlust

A year ago I arrived here in the Chariot, her trunk full of my life’s accumulation of belongings. Two duffel bags full of clothes, one shoulder bag stuffed with boots, and various sized totes full of family and friends, in the form of trinkets, clothes, books and an assortment of diverse memorabilia I had collected throughout 40 years of life. With $500 in my pocket, I had no job, my car was reliable but nearing questionable, and I was $3,000 in debt.
Today I’m sitting in my breakfast nook, writing stories by candle light in my little white house with green trim. My beach cruiser Eunice leans against my flower lined walk outside, and the smell of Autumn blows through the open door on the back of the cold, cleansing wind that blows through my back door screen.
I’m the Associate Editor of the local paper and a semi-celebrity, making an above average salary for doing what I love. I spent a summer camping and working as a dam guide, I’ve flown in a helicopter, climbed many mountains, met many people, read a dozen books or so and been stalked by coyotes. I was held hostage by hot terrorists, rescued by ruggedly handsome soldiers, hiked in the moonlight,
I’ve witnessed tragedy, travesty, diversity, stupidity, and have not only enjoyed it, but reveled in it at times.
It’s been an incredible year. I’ve learned a lot, about life, myself and humans in general.
And I’m thinking it’s nearing time for me to move on. I’m not exactly sure why, other than I inherited the wanderlust from my parents. I seem to have achieved everything I wanted to when I left the city, but I still feel an emptiness that I can’t explain. Maybe it’s more of a loneliness, I can’t be sure.
Although I don’t quite understand my need to walk away from a life that is picture perfect, I know I will. If I created this for myself here, I’m confident I can create it wherever I go.

October 1, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | 5 Comments