Wandering through memories. Memories of places I’ve been, trying to recapture those moments, the sights, the smells, the heat, the noise.
I’d like to wander again.
I need to wander. I need that goal, that target if you will.
Without it I shrivel up and become a mere shadow of the person I am when I’m wandering.
Hope. It’s an elusive thing for in truth I hope little for myself. Grandiose ideas and fanciful dreams are just that now for I am no longer a young man and cannot turn back the steady advance of time.
Older, not wiser. Weaker certainly with the foul annoyance of Fibromyalgia giving nothing but varied levels of weariness and pain. Frustration then, that whilst I’m still capable, we find ourselves trapped in bubbles whilst an unseen virus reaps havoc amongst us.
I miss it. I miss everything. Lengthy anticipation, painstaking research; days when TripAdvisor and I were on speaking terms. The place where I’ll lay my head, the plane I’ll sit on, the things I’ll see.
Those are the days. Good days. In fact my best days. My best day ever.
Poring over brochures, comparing websites, adding costs, contrasting prices, booking leave. Airport parking, airport hotels, lists of what to pack, lists of what not to. Checking temperatures, flight times, departure and arrival times, time zones, free time.
There’s a kind of Autistic ecstasy in doing these things. They excite me in a way which, to the ordinary person, might seem amazing for they appear so mundane, so run of the mill, in some cases even unnecessary but that’s it, the finer details, the joy of knowing, of being prepared.
Times passing and I yearn for a time to wander once more. To walk paths both familiar and unfamiliar, to see new places and see again old friends. Times passing and the years grow shorter. The autumn of my life is here and each leaf that falls reminds me that I might only have a few years of reasonable health in which to see all I want to see.
This pandemic; this accursed thing has blighted my life in so many ways. Tragedy, inconvenience, frustration, the impact on my mental health, the one thing that wandering puts on hold albeit briefly.
Wandering. My minds wandering but oh boy, do I wish it were my feet!.