Not all those who wander are lost. 2-on-1 #19

This week's 2-on-1 blog is dedicated to all those restless souls who are not meant to be tied to a traditional lifestyle and yearn to wander, not looking for anything specifically but - like sharks - must move or die. Everyone knows someone like this.

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I went to high school with a guy born to run - his name is Randy, I have known Randy since grade school and little league baseball. Randy is a musician -a superior bass player - and lives in Kauai but is prone to take annual trips to Asia and other places. He is now in the middle of solo sailing trip through Asia and headed to London, Not a bad jaunt and it is not his first within the last 12 months. You go Randy.

So why are these people born to run?

Dunno for  sure why but there seems to be a common thread in my experience - musicians seem to be afflicted with the traveling gene. But even though they travel they have roots. I think we are conditioned to have a home base = whether they want to go back to it or not.

Back in 1967 as I was preparing to graduate from high school several of my friends and I were bitten by the wanderlust bug, When asked about our post HS plqns the replies were almost universally the same - I am gonna Route 66 it for a while. The response was greatly aided by our near universal affinity to a popular TV show back then - Route 66. It was a show about a couple of 20 somethings traveling the country in a corvette, experiencing life and love literally on the road of life.

I confess occasionally I wonder how different my life would have been if I had actually taken that trip. Somehow I doubt I'd be living in a home with wheels in North Carolina if I had.

For whatever reason, some people are just happier when on the road. Maybe they had some emotional trauma, maybe they simply like to travel. The reason is irrelevant. These are folks that are not lost,  they are doing the thing that makes them happy.

Back in my Pueblo days (up to 10 years old) we lived a couple of blocks away from a hobo encampment. To get there I had to cross a couple of streets and sneak through my friend Bud Rossi's back yard, hop his fence and go down about 50 feet to the path that ram along the railroad tracks and lead directly to the camp. Now these were the tail end of the halcyon days when hoboes rode the rails regularly. Although my grandma and step grandfather warned me not to hang out there, how could I not? These guys were bigger than life and friendly as all heck. I had my first taste of slumgullion - a hobo stew. It was wonderful but I gave myself away when I asked my grandma what was in it. Busted. But she checked with Mode, my step grandpa and three or four days later she made it for me. I remember potatoes, onions, stewed tomatoes and chunks of beef. It was wonderful. I wish I'd been old enough to ask those guys why they rode the rails. They would likely have said looking for work but I suspect a few just liked being on the road.

I think it is clear by now that some people simply cannot remail in place, no matter where they are. They are simply restless souls that for whatever reason keep on moving much like gypsies, nomads or other types of vagabonds.

That's my quick shack-take on the topic I chose for this weeks 2-on-1 post. Be sure to visit Ramana.to see what he has to say.