continents and countries

That last post rings so true. I remember especially my puzzle map of the United States, and the huge world map on the wall at church. I would stare, when I could, out the corner of my eye while the grownups talked overhead. Imprinting the shapes of the continents and countries and all their lovely foreign names on my brain, hoping to see them still when I closed my eyes, day or night. Dreaming when I needed to of the places that were out there, somewhere. Africa. Australia. Hawaii. New York. Brazil. London. California. Japan.

Delightful, all of them, and all for the same reason.
They were all someplace else.

I held fast to those images, to the promise that there was more to this world than the cornfields, the small town, the cows; the people who hurt me, and the ones who didn't see me being hurt. I wanted to go, go anywhere. Spin the globe, and where my finger lands... well, who cares? Let me get on an airplane, or a train, or a boat. It can't be all bad. It can't be as bad as here.

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I'm not trapped among the cows and the corn anymore. I got on a plane and flew away, to one of the magical places on my map -- the Golden State, no less. But I still love the lines and the colors and the promises: This place is right here, I swear. Just travel this many inches or miles and you'll arrive. If you believe it -- if you have the time and the energy and a little bit of money -- you can cross your fingers and set out to see it for yourself.

And thank you, I think I will.