Why? You asked. Not me.

I really did think I was going to get by without conceding to an official answer of ‘why.’ First, who knew you all were this curious and second, I will always be in the opinion that referencing Huck Finn is not only a sufficient answer but an explanatorily conclusive answer…evidently, you guys disagree. So here I am giving you a why which shouldn’t be taken as an insecure compulsion to justify my trip but more as a thinking ahead tactic (yeah baby! sometimes I do that) to shoo away new questioners by telling them to find my blog on the web.

It’s not really about Huck Finn introducing a niche life of perfectly billowed sleeves that manage to stay in tact despite all the branches he encounters while climbing to various forts he calls home. It’s more that I’m just like his friend, Tom*.

*You see, Tom looked up to Huck and envied his life on the outskirts of society but eventually learned that, while his adventure was fun as it lasted, the life Aunt Polly raised him in was ultimately more appealing.

I’m wedged between two spokes of a white picket fence. It’s confusing that I am even sitting on a picket fence in the first place. What the heck does one get out of sitting on a fence? It’s not cute as a proverbial thought because it means I’m indecisive and the only thing uglier than indecisiveness is not caring. So, at least I care. And on an observable thought, it’s not cute less I’m 12 years old and I can fit in such a way that both legs hang over the same side avoiding these slivers sliding into my already prevalent inside-thigh, chaff wounds. This ringer may paint me a fool but I’ll have you know that I’ve been doing some crow poses in yoga, which, as far as I’m concerned, screams personal intuition, to which I say, I know myself well enough to recognize that, like Tom, ultimately I want to be on the inside-side of the white picket fence. It doesn’t take more than an afternoon of picking up the boys I grew up babysitting and flicking them around to different locations like the boogers they definitely left in my car to reassure my biological, gender-based desire that yes, eventually, I’d love to be a mom. But, I said ‘ultimately.’ So, I guess I’m wedged in this fence forever. Rat-ta-ta-taaaa.

Kidding! Duh. That’s what the other side of the fence is for. To run wild! Run free! Until I cry, find out for myself that the outlaw life is not for me (outlaw, people. Don’t even try calling me a hippie) and return to the inside side of a white picket fence by walking through the gate like a civilized, mature human being.

The best of both worlds. A big compromise considering I always thought I’d get myself the best of all worlds and not just two…

Good enough answer? Didn’t understand? Maybe I should just tell people, “to travel.”

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