Desperation Dissipating

Feeling good.
Got no plans.
Only sketches.

But you know, I have a dream.
I just realized it about a week ago over Mr. Gatti's pizza buffet.
(Not very good pizza.)
I felt it up and down, squeezed here, poked it there, sniffed it a little.
I realized that it was infact, just as I had feared, some silly fantasy.

I felt like a 6 year old boy, looking longingly after a passing fire truck.
That is a dream.
To want to do something, or to be something, just because you get a very deep happy tingle when you imagine it.
Just because you think it's that fucking cool.
And it is not something to be embarassed about, so you never have to bullshit when someone asks you why you want to do it.

Someone: "Why do you want to travel Candice?"
Me: "Oh, you know, experiencing different cultures, meeting people, see the world....(more generic cop out answers)"

And those are just the one's I tell complete strangers in light conversation.
You should hear the bullshit I whip up in heavier conversation with my friends.
Lordy lord.
But what do you expect. I've only just admitted it to myself.
I want to travel because I want to be a traveller, a wanderer.
Here's what I wrote in my real journal.

"I want to be a world wise, seasoned traveller, with friends around the world, always getting into adventures, with a million stories, who visits her family, but never for long, because something inside her says she needs to leave.
A wanderer who follows her gut, with scars and their tales, experiences of danger, close calls, magic, whimsy, discovery."

I want to travel to be that person.
Maybe I've invented that her.
No passing fireman for me to emulate.
I guess that's why it's called a dream.
And I feel pretty lucky that I still have one.