I had a nightmarish vision of losing my looks, boyish charm, and sparkling wit. I wonder to myself if I’m going to regret not going to some foreign land to ‘find myself’ or ‘seek inner peace’. I don’t want to make the mid-twenties pompous statement that I’ve seen and done it all. There are countless people out there that find new and unique experiences that the general public will never know. The yen for material possessions binds me to my career. The desire for chocolate cake and sloth point me to a life afforded by celebrity. My rational brain just wants to take a break from the mind-bending frustration of Corporate America. Meritocracy with a sliding scale, wall-to-wall project managers, architects, planners, and pseudo-theoretical-fauxportant experts.
I want to break free from the shackles of jargon and one-upmanship. With the influx of foreign “intelligence” I can’t be guaranteed my job will be available if I asked for a sabbatical. For now, I’ve just got my dirty dirty thoughts. In this fantasy of mine I have a satellite phone, a good pair of shoes, and good traveling cloak. As implausible as it is now, I just assume that I have a huge spending account. If the kids in Pokemon can walk around for days without spending money, shopping, and eating… so can I.
On this magical journey, I would make sure to do things that I cannot do while working for “the man”. In warm climates, I’ll be wearing just my Chanel robe and Vuitton sandals. My hair would be dreadlocked and people would invite me into their home because of my compelling look of bohemian-haute-couture. In colder climates, my robe would be open to reveal layers of well-tailored technical fabrics finished with a really good pair of boots. I would have a wolf-hound and we would track down wild boar and pheasants to serve a small restaurant catering to lovers of game. In large cosmopolitan cities, you wouldn’t spot me in a crowd. I would be dressed much like the humble bike messenger, just tooling around the big up-scale shops while unsuspecting clerks try to assess my varying levels of inpropriety. Thanks to the youth culture, crap is the new chic and skank is the new demure, so long as I have that magical spending allowance I would be a coveted asset to consumerism. Finishing up my time away, I would take up a small hut near a beach in Southeast Asia. A t-shirt, sarong, and a thick layer of DEET would be my leisurely uniform. Subsisting on sour fruits, market fish, rice, and the occasional duck egg until my craving for a glass of Detroit water whips me back home.
Yes, it’s a lovely fantasy… but like celebrity vacations and scenes in porn, you have to avert your gaze and focus on the real world.