I’m about to go on vacation for a bit.
When I travel, I become invisible, if I want. I do want. I want to stay in my room and read a book, or sit by the river while the sounds of language around me provides a musical lullaby. Watching bicylists whiz by, asking nothing from me. Walking near rivers and shops.
When I’m at home, I think of my clothes that need to be picked up, or bills that need attending, or (once a year, whether they need it or not) those poor plants that seek watering. Perhaps even a blog entry that is itching to come out will find its way to Movable Type entries.
When I’m away, I stop worrying and doing. I start listening. To myself, to the quietness. I can remember being awake in the middle of the night in Paris and looking at the street and the flower stand across the way as it opens at 5:00 in the morning. And I wait for dawn when I will walk the streets.
But the vacation I’m about to go on is with my little guy and my big guy. It probably won’t be quiet, but it’ll be good.

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