J's Musings

Living life on the edge;

I think about it a lot, in daydreams and letters that never get sent. About living life on the edge. With no shits given and a camper van for a home. Maybe a cat that is accustomed to all sorts of ridiculous weather. Or an adopted daughter, looking forward to late night ramen that we don’t whisper during. Because we don’t have anyone to hide our cravings from. A life where living is not exceptional.

I think about it too much; a warm blanket on my lap as I accelerate on a hot mirror of a highway. Playing songs from bands that were almost never a phase. I could live life like that, without being tied down to an identity or place.

For the friend in Canada, I can be Martha. For those in Africa, Abi. Maybe I can take on Pharita somewhere else. Surely, for those at home; or maybe the home of my childhood would suit better, I can be Janhavi. A girl who was lost along the way to make space for the essence that made up every single one of these people that I could become.

I think I could float in a limbo; escape to another identity when the responsibilities and hurdles of one become too much. I could pretend to run away, when I was just running towards. I guess I would never know what I might have been going after, maybe stability.

A life on the edge would suit me well. A life on a tightrope would be good. Falling into the gentle cushions of identities bought and sold in conversation. I would become a one-person circus. Travel the world and let the world find me only in the shards I would leave behind.

At the core, I could still be me. But me is not tied to a name or job or birthplace. Me would the person who never hurt someone on purpose or the child who never left her wonder behind. Me would be everything I would be hesitant to show if I knew that was all I could ever be.

One day, I will go to their city and be a dancer from an abandoned circus. I could perform only for them, until the dancer became me and I had to leave the suffocation of an identity.

To be no one; would that be the worst thing? I mean, only as no one, can I be everyone.

I could be someone to smoke a tiny cigarette with a run-away or to share a meal with a Nonna or, someone to teach my daughter to fight and my cat to roll over for no one. 

Living life on edge could be sunlight filtering through rectangular camper windows and the starched waft of linen. It could be braiding the hair of a child whose colour is not like mine in the slightest but still love dearly. It could be petting a rescues cat with one less eye, or making pancakes in a stove surely not meant for actual cooking.

Maybe, I could open my eyes to the howl of an animal I do not identify, but do not fear either. I could wake up the tiny ball of fur and someone else I could genuinely love to come look out the window with me.

If I ever dare to live life on the edge, I wouldn’t dare to pack more than clothing and crockery. I would replace my phone and computer with something cheaper, newer.

I’ll invest in a good camper, make sure my paperwork is clean as can be. And then; and then I will vanish. Less like a chameleon’s camouflage of fading away into the surrounding, but more like a magician’s clever trick. Quick, clean and spotless.

I think about this too often. A sort of wild fantasy. The kind that one slaps themselves out of. I have a life and I cannot spend it on the run; especially when there is nothing chasing me.

I think, when the truth comes down to it, those with nothing chasing them are always first to run. Simply to feel the rush.

I wonder if this is how madness begins; slowly, steadily, with an urge to be somewhere that doesn’t exist. Will this adrenaline keep me alive; make sure I do not become another generic zombie? A product of social media; the drug of my times.

I wish to break this mould so badly, I am convinced I am only making myself fit in tighter.

Anyway, that was what has been on my mind this week. If anyone out there has been feeling like running away these days, I hope this post reminded you that you are not alone.

A sort of distant warmth she struggles to pass on,

Janhavi ❤

Picture Credits: bre0858 on Pinterest