Away

I’m on the road this month.

Well, not exactly on the road — it just sounds cool to say it like that. The reality is that I’m away from home. I’m working on a movie in Birmingham, which is a little over three hours up the interstate from Mobile. That’s not very far, I’ll admit, but a month away from home is still a month no matter how far you go, whether it’s 250 miles or 2,500.

For as little as I leave town, Birmingham might as well be on the moon.

I always love the idea of travel, of being away a while and seeing the world. But somehow I always find it hard to just pick up and go, to forsake the burrow I’ve made with all its warmth and seclusion, the shadows that dance in the corners of your eyes, the creaks of the floorboards and the cracks in the attic; my writing desk, my reading chair; the furry little creatures who rely on me for Maslow’s hierarchy of needs and whom I rely on in return... I love my home and my life there.

But right now I’m away again.

Oh, I’ve planned multiple trips in the past, even spent money with the expectation that I’d be making good use of it, only to come up with some excuse as to why I can’t go, or at the very least shouldn’t. It’s not hodophobia. It’s not travel aversion. It’s just plain old fashioned travel anxiety — and that’s hard to admit while living in a society that prizes wanderlust over literally every sense of security.

I often joke that I’m a recluse, but I’m not. I’m just a homebody at the core of things; a severe lover of my personal space; a desperate seeker of alone time. A few months ago I spent some time in Boston, and funny enough, it didn’t kill me. On the contrary I think it livened me up some, gave me the satisfactory of having new experiences I’d been looking forward to for a long time only couldn’t afford, whether monetarily or mentally. It was beautiful. It reminded me that I can go anywhere and do anything I want, and that in itself was liberating.

And right now I’m away again.

I’ve always had this love-hate relationship with being home. Admittedly, it’s more love than hate, but there are times when I feel imprisoned by it. I rely on it to keep me safe and secluded. I need it to provide peace and quiet. It’s where I learn to cook new things, where I dream and pray and research and develop new stories to a painstaking degree of detail. It’s where I write those stories, where I edit movies, where I read books and make all the plans that feed my purpose and eventually lead to fulfillment.

Besides, home is where all the best ghost stories come from.

My home is my sanctuary, my escape from the world, but it’s also my crutch. So when travel beckons I do my damnedest to harken and obey the call. I do my best to seize upon the opportunities made available by this freelance life I’ve chosen—and so far it hasn’t disappointed.

So right now I’m away again, and I will be here until it’s time to return home.

Best,

CBM