I long for escape these days. I fantasize of getting up at daybreak one of these mornings and getting into my car and driving, with no set destination in mind. In the company of only a few of my most precious belongings, I want to roll the windows down and feel the wind on my face. I want to sing at the top of my lungs, songs of endings and beginnings, songs of sadness and loss and freedom and peace. I want to drive past the towering buildings and into the mountains. I want to find a place where the ground is covered in white and the silence is deafening. I want a place to read and think and write. I want to find a haven in which I can escape from the world of responsibility and deadlines and complexity.
I know this feeling well, too well. This feeling of wanting to run far away, to escape the overwhelming sensations of reality, to find solace in solitude. After knowing this feeling time and time again for so many years, I know the origin of this desperate desire. It only comes when I reach the edge. It only happens after I'm totally tired. Tired so much as if I have reached the peak of a mountain, I stand firmly on the edge, and I look down to find that there is nothing there. The beautiful vista has only been another disillusion of my mind, and I am faced with a choice. Do I turn around and climb back down the mountain, hoping that the next mountain I climb will offer the magnificence of my dreams? Or do I allow myself to fall from the edge?
So many mountains I've climbed, so many times I've reached this edge. Many times I have jumped, allowing the desolation to envelop me as I plummet into emptiness. A few times I have simply turned around and walked back down the thought mountain, building up new dreams in my head of the other mountains I shall climb. In essence, I have managed to escape, in some fashion, each time I have reached the edge. Never have I even entertained the possibility of just staying there on the edge. Never have I allowed myself to realize that should I just sit and wait, perhaps the vista I have dreamed of will roll into view.
I'm at the edge again, and I'm terrified. My instincts are to run. At moments I think I could easily turn around and have a comfortable life. Other moments are so burdened by exhaustion that the idea of jumping seems a blessing in disguise. But no matter how appealing escape seems, I have realized throughout the years (and many attempts to escape) that it is impossible to escape from oneself. And so here I am again, but this time I will sit on the edge. I will feel the wind upon my face as I sit here and I will cherish the deafening silence that surrounds me, even at this difficult juncture. I will sit, I will wait, and maybe tomorrow's sunrise will bring the view that is harbored in my soul. I will make a choice - THE choice.