A Wanderer

"Not all those who wander are lost." J.R.R. Tolkien


Not too long ago, my mother and I were playing the reminiscing game about my childhood when out of nowhere she revealed that she used a leash on me when I was younger.


We've all seen those poor children in the mall, harnessed tightly to a leash that looks like it was meant for a German Shepherd, not a 35-pound toddler. You see them try to run beyond the limits of the leash, moving their little arms and legs so fast but gaining no ground whatsoever. 


Well, yeah that was me. How embarrassing. 


In hindsight though, I was a wanderer. I could never seem to stay with the wolf pack. I was the stray duckling who ends up on wandering on the side of the road searching for Momma Duck. 


Problem is I still am. I don't know what it is about me and staying in one spot, but I can't seem to stay put. I have to wander, roam and meander around a party, a room and even the streets. Its not that I don't like my friends, I just seem to be guided by other things... I suppose.


I can't really come up with a logical answer. 


My mind tends to wander first with my body following it clumsily. There is no rhyme or reason, but then again I don't truly wish to find out why. Although I'm curious to know how I ended up in a hammock on a beach one early morning while Spring Breaking in Key West. Or how I end up at Chix Beach by myself for hours on end on Sunday afternoon.


During re-caps of the night before after drinking, I always find myself asking my friends, "where I was that during all this?" Meaghan always answers me the best: "Well you know you're just the wandering type, Gill. You're always off somewhere!" 


I don't know if it's good, or if it's bad, but it's in my nature.


I just can't seem to sit...