As you read this, I am on the road…

It seems a fitting time to share this story.

On Thursday, before I left, I was talking to my mom on the phone, and somehow we got into a discussion about when her and my dad dated, when she got pregnant, etc. etc. etc.  I had heard the story a million times before, but for some reason I noticed this time that there was a gap.  A big, 8 month long, gap in the middle of her history.  I asked questions I had never thought to ask before and pushed for details I had never noticed were missing.
And, for the first time, my mom shared her secret with me.

When my mom was 18 years old, on Halloween night, mere weeks after she’d started her freshman year of college, she got on a bus and left.  All of it.  Her family.  Her friends.  Her school.  All of it.

She was feeling restless and unsure of her future.  She was overwhelmed by the feeling of being different from everyone around her.  An ad in the student newspaper promising work and fun and a whole new life experience provided her with an answer - a way out.

She got off the first bus in Winter Park, CO and worked at a ski resort that provided lodging for their staff.  After a few weeks there, she found herself in California.  Shortly after that, she got on yet another bus and headed for Mexico City - another country, another world.  She lived and worked there for a few months before finally heading back home, ready to face her parents and their questions and - of course - their disappointment.

8 months in all.  8 months that my mom lived with nothing but herself and her wits and the generosity of people she met along the way.  8 months of following one whim after another, chasing the rabbit down the proverbial rabbit hole, completely engrossed in the curiosity of where she would find herself next.
As I listened to her tell me this story, her story, I felt the dots connect in my head.  It was like a missing link in a long chain had finally been slipped into place.  A connection.  A tie.
You see, there is another story that I have always known.  Before my mother, there was her mother - my Nana.  My Nana was born in Australia - a Lady by title, a rebel by birth.  She threw off convention and expectations and joined the military - at a time when women rarely did that, and aristocratic women never did.  She was determined to see the world and spread her wings.  One love affair with a cute American soldier later and she found herself here, in America - Georgia I believe.

My Nana spent the rest of her life wandering, with long pit stops of “normalcy” in between grand road trips.  Her last move was late into her 70’s, when she picked up and moved from Chicago to Florida.  Alone.  1400 miles from her daughter and her grandchildren, the only family she had.

Hearing about my mother’s story - her grand adventure, her solitary escape - I could almost hear it all clicking into place.

This need for me, this craving to get out and see more, this unexplainable urge to start a new life far away from everything that’s familiar… it may not be normal, or common, or even easy.  But it’s me.  It’s in my blood.  It’s a desire that has been passed down to me through strong women.  Brave women.

I don’t know how my mom was able to keep this from me for 27 years, but I’m so glad she finally decided to tell me.  I think she knew I needed to hear it.  I needed to know.

I can do this.  I am… doing this.  Right now.  Right this very moment.

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Posted in Friends and Family Tagged: family, family stories, gypsy blood, mom, moving to Florida