The wish to move as freely as the sea
Churning up the crumbled ground
Is strong when lives are sad
And breaking like the ground.
It would be easier to pack our bags and leave
Than face the music here at home
And spread my roots below this sturdy soil.
When I was really struggling with my drinking I always hated going on the motorway. The reason I hated it so much was that I was worried that I’d just put my foot down and carry on to who knows where. We called it doing a ‘geographical’; moving somewhere new just to escape our problems.
The urge to leave my troubles behind and start all over again was strong. I imagined myself in Scotland, living in some village in the Highlands and nobody back home would know where I was.
Of course, I had Noah to look after and so I never did that, but I still occasionally get that urge to run. Nowadays, I think it’s more a case of boredom. I wonder if I’m going to die in my little town, having done nothing fun and out of the ordinary; nothing extraordinary.
I have a mortgage and a life here, but I do think that one day I’ll move on, I just think that doing a runner is the most sensible answer.