Frustration

Oh tiny little group of readers, I am wrestling with the nomadic nesting syndrome again.

Sometimes I just want to scream about the RUT I'm in.

A part of me deep down is adventurous, spontaneous, brave, and bold - the beserker, the warriorpoet.

There used to be more of that when I was younger. The person who climbed up the face of this mountain (Old Woman) one fine summer day by herself, just because:

See the line of trees above the yellow building? That was my route.

This site says it's 2,563 ft to the top; 3-8 miles. But that's referring to the trail on the back side of the mountain. The trail-less face may be more or less than that.

No water bottle, no food, no bear spray; I didn't even tell anyone I was going. Just did it.

The person who lived in a tent in Alaska; washed her hair in a steam, in the coldest water you ever felt. Who clambered over rocks and climbed up cliffs to get to the perfect ocean vista, praying I would see an orca pod. (Never did.)

What happened to her?!

On the other stupid damn hand, I love routine. I love my creatures and my creature comforts. I love my own bed, my jalapeno jelly green wall, my wood floors, my art, my friends.

I had a light bulb moment late last year when The Boy was talking about buying a dog boarding business.
He was always jumping from restaurant to restaurant when he was a chef. It made my stomach hurt. I've worked for the same company since 1999 (minus the "sabbatical" year of 2010-2011).

Then it dawned on me - he is a risk taker. And I am not in this stage of my life.

What's brought all this on (again)?
A friend from the past contacted me on Facebook last week. He's in SE Alaska salmon fishing. He sends me these fantastic pictures of the water and the mountains and I can smell the brine and the fireweed and the alders and the spruce.

Photos - JP

I MISS it. I miss the magnificent breathtaking adventure of the place.

Somewhere near Sitka, AK. Photo - JP

Once again my nomadic Viking blood is stirred up. Hell, those Spanish, Portuguese, and Italians got around as well. 98% of my blessed DNA is composed of sailors, explorers, risk takers.

So what the bloody hell is the matter with me?!

I want to have my cake and eat it too.

More to come...