running away from home

I was 6 the first time I ran away from home, it wasn’t the only time I would do this, but the memory is clear in my head: The fear and the freedom. Anxiety and exhilaration all wrapped up in a little 6 year old body like a package waiting to be opened. At 6 the idea that I, or anyone for that matter, could exist on their own is laughable, but not to a 6 year old. It was a completely empowering experience, until of course it started raining. But, for those 45 minutes I was free of the tyranny of rules, expectations, consequences, parents! I was my own person, free to do whatever my heart desired. Delusional, I know, but still thrilling. That heady feeling of course can’t last and that realization requires that one grow up a bit. But the appeal of that feeling remains today. I still run away from home occasionally, only now it’s my kids, my husband and even the dog I am escaping. That feeling of freedom isn’t quite the same as when I was six and unlike then, I know now it can’t last. But still, there’s always the next time.