Runaway

I tapped my fingers along the outer edge of the steering wheel. It was six in the morning, and I had about twelve more hours of highway laid out in front of me.

Last week, on a whim, I had decided the best course of action, or rather, the only course of action I could take to keep my sanity, would be the comfort of my second home. Somewhere in between the summer months, stress had started to build. Now normally, and especially during the past year, I would roll with the punches; but there was something about these blows over the last few weeks, maybe in the way they were delivered, maybe because they were from different parts of my life, that left me feeling drained.

Ever the dramatic, it’s hard for me not to wear my emotions on my sleeve. Hiding things isn’t exactly my forte, and I take my greatest comfort in talking things out with others when something is bothering me.

But the pressure kept building, and when an opportunity arose to go back to Alberta for a while, I didn’t hesitate to pack whatever summer clothes I could find and head out west. So there I found myself, music blaring, coffee in hand, cruising along the highway with the sun rising in my rearview mirror.

This morning I woke up in my old bed, my dog staring intently at me, waiting to be walked, and experienced a sense of relief I hadn’t felt in ages. I made coffee in my old kitchen, and I walked around my old neighbourhood, a path I had tread a thousand times. I visited old friends, and I relished in the moment as I watched my dog bound through the grass, eagerly fetching a toy.

I take comfort in the familiar. And the everyday life which I admittingly took for granted only years before was now giving me a sense of peace I had been seeking for months.

While it’s always best to face your problems head on, sometimes, if you know it’ll only be for a little bit, it’s more than okay, to run away.