By Chuck Woodbury
I came across a book recently about “Running Away With the Circus.” But what it was really about was running away from one’s present life and to a new one. Quitting an executive job to take up pottery-making would be an example. Retiring early to go full-time RVing would be another.
When you were young did you ever dream of joining the circus? I did. Oh, I was never serious about it, but I did ponder the idea of drifting from place to place gypsy-style. I have never understood my need to be a drifter. Some people need to plant roots firmly and then stay planted. I never desired deep roots, but shallow ones that could be easily replanted elsewhere.
I know people who love one place. They may try living in different towns, but never feel quite at home until they arrive in a special town where, for the first time, they feel complete. “This is it,” they say, and that is where they remain forever.
I have never found such a place. My place has always been somewhere different from the place before. And my house — my very favorite house — has always been a motorhome that allows me to live as a gypsy without being so conspicuous that people think me odd. I like waking up often in a different place, but I especially like it when I awake in such a place in my very own RV’s bed. I believe this is like having your cake and eating it, too.
Right now, writing this at my new home, where I have been now for about eight months, I’m feeling a bit of what I felt as a young man when I dreamed of joining the circus — of seeing new places and having new experiences. Have you ever stood at the airport and watched a friend’s plane take off to a place far away? Did you want to go? Did you feel envy? Did you feel left behind?
I’m not at the airport, but that’s sort of what I’m feeling right now.