Dear People at the Airline,
I know you are just doing your job, but are you aware of how difficult you make it for people like me to stay put? Or, rather, did you know that you make it far too easy to run away? My biological fight or flight response has become quite literal… though sometimes I take the train. In either case, my decision to flee is made in a broken heartbeat. Clutching my ticket to anonymity I suddenly find myself in a strange city, alone with my thoughts and a packet of cigarettes (which I remember I don’t smoke).
It’s not just a quirk, it’s become a habit. The minute I hear “I’m sorry, you deserve better” I’m out the door. How far I go doesn’t equate to how much I cared, neither does how long I stay. Sydney, Paris, Florence and Verona have all provided a background to this dramatic escape scene as I run with my bruised ego cradled in my arms, trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and my problems. As I collapse in my hotel room, I tell myself that staying put would have been worse. How can you gain a new perspective by staying in the same place? You can’t, can you? I should get frequent break-up miles, with the points redeemable in chocolate.
So why, with my heart fairly intact, do I still feel compelled to give you my credit card details? Was the one-way ticket to India not enough to satisfy those urges? I want to run, I want to run now, and I fear this quirky habit is taking over. Any stress, disappointment, or sense of boredom triggers my purchasing finger and I calculate just how far the sun is from here. Is this what addiction feels like? Couldn’t I have stuck to cigarettes? I know, I don’t smoke, but at least it would be cheaper.
Between you and me, it doesn’t matter how far I go or where. This time, I’m running away from myself. It’s not a great plan… I’m my only traveling companion… I know it has to end sometime, hopefully I’ll stop using my savings to run rather than find I’ve run out of savings. Anyway, see you on the flight to Varanasi.
Ps. If in the next few days you see a little brunette running across the airport to make the final boarding call to Guatemala, you’ll know I’ve cracked.