"Careers are a 20th century invention, and I don't want one"

Sometimes I jump into a memory with both feet. Most of the time it is willingly. Yesterday I watched the movie “Into the Wild”. I read the book in India while staying on the roof of a hotel. At the time it wasn’t safe to be walking the streets alone after dark (as a woman) so I read a lot. In a few months from the time I read that book I hitchhiked from the northern most aspect of India to Delhi after my bus blew up. I made it in time to catch my flight back to the USA and back to the little island I lived on. Back to my VW van, my cat, my boyfriend of the time who had hooked up with my a dear in my absence, and my natural surroundings of the Pacific Northwest. The men on this island were so similar to the man “Into the Wild” is written about. Seeing the movie, this long after reading the book, was like losing someone all over again. It was a rush of bush life. An instant memory of living in trees where deer sleep on your natural doorstep and where you bleed like clockwork with the moon. I have been depressed all day. Not because the man died but because it was a life I lead and I lived. I have integrated. I have seen the death of that side of myself. Sitting here, with my three jobs and my comfortable home, with my car that has to take me to the forest, I remember the naive ideology. There were truths in there. I still remember some of them.