There’s an image in my head of myself strolling barefoot along a beach in a long, red, semi-sheer, flowing skirt with a fitted tank covered by a sleeveless, red-flowered shirt that’s light and sheer… my face is relaxed, my children are running freely ahead, a book is in my hand and a blanket is thrown over my shoulder. Somewhere nearby is a shed, a lean to, a tent, a cabin or some place equally low maintenance that contains a few backpacks, provisions and everything we need to survive minimally and happily.
Living an itinerant life has been an on and off thought for quite some time. When I mention something like that most people chuckle and think I’m joking; they don’t realize that if I could really relinquish most of my responsibilities, drop off the grid and enjoy life as a vagabond I would do it in a split second.
I suppose vagabond wouldn’t exactly be the correct word to use because I wouldn’t be totally delinquent. I’d take care of my children. How? Hmmm… I guess I didn’t mention that every two to three months my oldest daughter would contact me (I’d always let her know where I am) and she along with my granddaughter would visit. She’d bring my earnings from my book sales as well as any instructions and manuscripts to edit then take my USB drives to my editor who she would work with and ensure my agent received the new manuscripts on time. Only if any major rewrites need to done does Amber contact me, but – for the most part – she handles everything (oh, she’s nicely compensated).
That, sorta, means I have to get busy writing, huh?
With that said: My fantasy (vision, dream, wish…) is this new way of life will so reduce my lifestyle to-do list and the strain on my brain. My creativity will increase 100 fold. My chronic pain will ease. We would learn multiple languages. Life and living would be peaceful, filled with learning, adventure and new experiences.
Being peripatetic (I just had to use that word) or acting like hobos (yea, I’ve written about that before) seems to be an alright-y life to me.