But I can’t deny that since I’ve tossed my own ambition out there (long term travel, please oh please), I’ve noticed an awful lot of conspiring. Friends introduce me to friends who ride motorcycles through Bhutan. Rick has suddenly launched his own blog (with his incredible travel pix) and tortures me every night by yelling "POSTED!" while I'm struggling just to come up with a topic. I can’t open my laptop without seeing a reference to Skype (the virtual worker’s magic carpet ride). And at the River this Labor Day weekend, holed up in my tent, the winds howled out of an otherwise perfect weather sojourn while I read the chapter about Hurricane Luis taking out Blanchards Restaurant in Anguilla. (Oops, spoiler! If you’re planning on reading A Trip to the Beach, just forget I mentioned that.)
Then tonight I see that a guy in my Personal Essay Writing course has written this:
I'm planning my escape from the "deferred life plan" to sail away on a 1969 Rawson 30 sailboat with my wife and wirehair dachshund. We live in Wilmington, NC on the coast. The boat stays in the water. I'm just a few lines cast off to making my dream a reality.
I admit: part of me fears that we are ALL planning to escape, and that we’ll all end up at the same gate at Dulles Airport. And if you make me miss my flight, you will pay. But mostly I think, hey, maybe there’s something to that hocus pocus.
So if you want to toss your own secret ambition out onto the wind with mine, go right ahead. Maybe you’ll get the seat next to me on the plane. Which would be great. Except don’t talk to me. I’ll be trying to figure out how to Skype.