This could easily be me.
Have you ever heard of the Tennessee Williams play Stairs to the Roof? Not many have. It's not big in the cannon (although I really love some of his more wacky and obscure stuff and I think you should too), and I think the play is more well known for its subtitle which is:
A Prayer for the Wild at Heart That Are Kept in Cages
This subtitle is more than a little dramatic, and sweeping, and has been the subject of many an ill-conceived tattoo...just ask Angelina Jolie. BUT I still really dig it. I'm a sucker. And as someone currently lodged behind a desk in midtown, I feel like I kind of get it. Who doesn't want to escape the menial existence they didn't really plan on, and take off for the horizon? To reclaim your life and your wild heart? I know I sure as hell do. I like fresh air, open skies, and adventure. And jogging around the reservoir in Central Park isn't ticking all the boxes anymore.
Let's hike this.
I would also be pleased to be here.
I thought I was doing my brutal time as a young mind in a tough city, who would eventually do well enough to live in a place where I can see the stars in the sky at night. But that time hasn't come for me yet, so I have had to find my precious time away in smaller doses. A summer in the woods. A day trip to hike somewhere out of the city. A few days upstate near a farm. And most recently, a weekend at Cape Cod.
Cape Cod is really lovely, a fine example of picturesque New England. I'm all about that shit. Tiny homes and dark, shiny wooden interiors, clean salty air, and paths of every variety (stone, sand, straw) to follow. The best part came from taking the dogs for a nice little jaunt around near the docks, then off into the marshes. It was really beautiful. I was taking breaths so deep you'd think I was a struggling asthmatic - but I was just getting the biggest hits of fresh air I could. Perfect. Happy.
Until we got home and found a tick on one of the dogs.
And I am utterly shamed to say I kind of freaked out. I was like "Check the dogs! Check yo'self! Then check again because Lyme Disease is horrible and I don't want it! Blergh!!"
I went from Miss L.L.Bean to Upper Wet Rag in under 60 seconds. And I hate that. Why couldn't I just chill out? Why did I have to get all squirmy when bugs were involved? Argh. Even if they are blood-sucking leeches of disease, I am shamed. The same thing has happened when I've gone surfing. It's all fun and games until someone sees a jellyfish, and by that time I have probably made it back to the car, because I have run the fuck away so damn fast. I can't really be that wild at heart when so many things in nature freak me out, can I? It makes me feel like some spoiled little city dweeb, whose closest "country" experience is some kind of Disney-fied Country Bears hot freaking mess.
Then again, I can't deny that I have spent the majority of my life as a city person. Mass transit is my 6th sense. "Bitch, please" is my blood type. To deny this HUGE part of my personality would be to quash the reality of who I am. What's the happy medium? Is it suburban living? If that the case....ok. Obviously I haven't figured it out yet, or I would have gone there a long time ago. Until then, this city girl will continue on, boats against the current, ready to exchange her sexy high heels for hiking boots whenever she possibly can....as long as we can keep the involvement of bugs to a minimum. Ick.
