i watched into the wild yesterday, and it made me yearn for an adventure.
there have been a lot of times where i’ve wanted to pack a backpack with the bare necessities and just hoof it around the country, with no itinerary and no one to be accountable to. traveling in the wild with a group would be fun and all, but i think doing it alone would make the experience more pure, in a sense; like because you’re experiencing it alone and don’t have other people to share it with, the intensity and profundity is at its maximum height. but i would even be content (nay, happy) to just train-hop around the country like kerouac did back in the day.
photo by philip scott andrews
every once in a while, i like to daydream about living that kind of life, exploring the alaskan wilderness in the spring or stealthily jumping onto moving trains in the middle of the night, but i come crashing back to reality when i remember how different the world is now, and how my sex has an effect on everything i do, or even dream of doing. kerouac jumped on trains in the 40’s when a dollar could go a lot further and trains were fairly safe, and chris mccandless didn’t deal with people very often in his travels. and of course, they were both men. on top of the fear i would feel (maybe constantly) if i were completely alone in my travels, my mother would never let go to any location remote or un-remote by myself, no matter how old i was. because she knows how unsafe it is for a woman alone. and i hate to admit that there are things i can’t do, but i don’t even know if my weak arms could pull me onto a train without help, let alone survive a flash flood or kill and skin an animal for food. and that depresses me, that my life experiences are always going to be limited by my biology.