E il treno io l’ho preso e ho fatto bene.
Spago sulla mia valigia non ce n’era,
solo un pò d’amore la teneva insieme,
solo un pò di rancore la teneva insieme.
–Francesco De Gregori/Pablo***And the fact is I had fun, fumbling around
All the advice I shunned, and I ran
Where they told me not to run, but I sure
Had fun, so
I’m gonna fuck it up again
I’m gonna do another detour
Unpave my path
–Fiona Apple/A Mistake
When I finally decided to run, I took a plane. Then a train.
With my usual flair for exaggeration, I went to another continent.
I must have been such a joy to my parents what with the teenage marriage, bad attitude and scar tissue.
My mother, to give her credit, was smart enough not to tell me it was a bad idea to run off to France without having any idea how I was going to get back. I could only afford a one way ticket. I figured I’d get a ticket back somehow. My somehows back then were more than a little sketchy.
I wasn’t running from anything that any other 20 year old didn’t have to deal with. People I was having trouble forgetting. Someone I loved, who I felt like I’d hurt, who I didn’t see any more. Too much sex and drugs and rock ‘n roll. Which, I suppose, were just a different way of running. I could justify leaving intellectually, since I was majoring in French. Running with the complicity, assistance and encouragement of the entire Romance Language department at the University of Oregon.
Running away, but convinced I was running to something. A better future, I guess. An intellectual adventure. A chance to expand my very provincial horizons. To gain life experience. To lose my American accent. Meet new people. I don’t know. I was 20. I didn’t know anything, and I thought I was smart. I thought it would change me. No, I thought it would make me better.
Because at that point, I was kind of a mish-mash of inferiority and superiority complexes. I though I was both smart and an idiot. Ugly and man bait. Completely on top of everything, and completely useless. Oh, how is that different from what I’m like now? Well. I’m not man bait any more. Aside from that, you know, people don’t change very much. Also, shut up. I’m not quite as much of a mess as I was back then. I’m shedding some of those feelings of inadequacy a little at a time, but like all of us I still have my moments where I’m driving down I-5 with the music blaring, crying about being such a fucking dumbass.
These days, although I’m still weird inside and lame, I have friends who make me (mostly) think that’s OK. I only think I’m a dumbass some of the time.
These days, there is way more love holding me together than bitterness.
It has nothing to do with when I ran away, or where I ran, and more to do with when I stopped and paid attention.
I can be smart about lot of things and an idiot about others, and not beat myself up about it. No one knows everything. Except my mother. I can have times when I really am completely useless and fall apart, but even while I’m doing it I know that I’ll hold together.
I’m stuck together with stubbornness, humor and love.
That sounds kind of icky.
But it’s good glue.
***Translation:
I took the train, and it was for the best.
There was no twine around my suitcase
Only a bit of love held it together
Only a bit of rancor held it together