Sometimes, it’s a tempting idea. The idea to get shot of all that we have, declutter enormously, move into a yurt, or even better a camper van. It’s incredibly tempting given that we have friends who have done precisely this, who tease and torment us with daily pictures of the fantastic views they are seeing – rainbows, beach horizons, golden eagles. But as I’m typing this sitting with my cup of tea beside me, my wireless network humming away, radio playing in the background and toddler playing at my feet, I know that really it wouldn’t suit us.
I’m not the kind of person who can just launch into the unknown on a wing and a prayer. Good grief, I’m not even the kind of person who can get rid of unneeded grown out of clothes – we’re drowning in hand me downs atm, and each bag I take out to the charity shop is almost physically painful. I’d be the one scoping out breakdown cover and motorhome insurance, desperate to build safety nets into a lifestyle designed for rather more freedom of expression.
And yet, I do wonder when this need for safety and security crept into my days. Did it sneak in with children? Was it when the modern world tilted and little wars started up all over the place? Was it when I gave up my well paid job to try staying at home and home educating, or when I gave up the montessori dream and came home again, with another baby on the way? I need to branch out again somehow, find a little excitement and stretch myself more, or I risk sleepwalking through my life and giving an awful example of adulthood to my children. But I don’t think WWOOFing is quite the right thing for me. What I need to work out is what is. Any suggestions?
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