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Barefoot Dreams
By Karen Lenar
It
was a day to dream.
The zephyr carried the scent of spring and graced it
upon patrons sitting at outdoor café tables.
Shop owners propped their doors open to welcome the
warmth of the smiling sun. Groups of carefree people
gathered to chatter, forgoing hot chocolates for iced
coffees.
It was my day to dream.
I strolled along, my spirit as blithe as the dancing
breeze. I wore tinted sunglasses, a flowery bandanna,
and a set of headphones. Music filtered through my brain,
and I rocked in happiness. Beauty surrounded and filled
me. I had nothing but time to waste in the splendid
afternoon.
When I passed the store, the door was open. I stopped,
backtracked, and peered into the window. Why not? What
was I waiting for? Many days, many weeks I had passed
the travel store without stopping.
His voice startled me.
"Hello there," he said. The owner stood tall,
over six feet, and wore cut-off jeans and a t-shirt.
He was barefoot.
"Care to take a look?" he inquired.
I followed him inside.
It was a small travel store with an array of odds and
ends. The typical travel books, the backpacks, the maps,
and small touristy items such as country-shaped paperweights.
I looked but didn't really see anything I liked- or
needed. I already had my travel books.
"Any trips planned?" he asked me.
Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I had one big trip
planned. Dare I say it?
"Around the world," I replied. Well, this
was not exactly true. More of wherever I could go in
six months time-with Europe and Southeast Asia as musts.
But to a relatively inexperienced traveler with the
travel bug- that seemed to encompass the entire world.
The owner listened and then replied. He had many stories,
but more importantly, he had a friend sitting right
across the way at one of the outdoor cafes ("See
there?") who was embarking on a yearlong travel
trip. Around the world.
We exchanged e-mails in the sunlight- this hippie and
I- and I went along on my way, my brain exploding with
possibilities. I dreamed of Thai sunsets and Paris cafes.
I dreamed of shedding everything I owned except for
the clothes on my back. I dreamed of running barefoot
through soft grains of sand.
Weeks passed. The hippie emailed me from exotic countries,
sharing her travel secrets here and there, and I emailed
back. The correspondence eventually faded. Spring changed
to hot, humid Jersey summer - where we escaped to the
local beach for relief- and eventually the warmth faded
into brisk fall.
Sometime near the end of the summer I passed the store
again, shocked to see a "Going Out of Business"
sign. All the travel books were half off, and the owner
still wore no shoes. Again, I looked but didn't see
anything I wanted.
"Why?" I asked him. "The economy, terrorism?"
It seemed to fit. The economy was still in a rut; the
terror alert continued to be elevated. I had just read
that Americans were taking a lot of domestic vacations.
"That," he replied, "and it's time to
move on."
It seemed like an end of an era that fall. My dreams
had faded along with the warm weather. I still wore
shoes to work nearly everyday; my travel books began
to collect dust on my bookshelf. My six-month trip got
pushed back another few months- then another few. Maybe
it wasn't possible to just pick up and go for six months.
Maybe I couldn't shed all my belongings. Maybe I couldn't
ever quit my job. I started to convince myself that
I should be content with weeklong jaunts here and there.
When I could travel with a suitcase full of stuff.
I passed the empty store recently on an awful day. A
windy, cold, gray day. The stores looked as frigid as
the bundled-up people who hurried past, averting their
eyes. It was a day in which all dreams seemed frozen.
Impossible and dead.
There in the window hung a paper clock, the kind that
shop owners post when they go out to lunch for an hour.
"Be Back Soon," it read.
My hurt jumped, and I smiled to myself. "It's time
to move on," the owner had said. I realized then
that I was the creator of my destiny, and I could dream
my dreams. I went home and promptly threw off my shoes
and socks. I dusted off my travel books and sat down
to read. Soon enough, I thought to myself. Soon enough
it'll be my time to move on, and when I do, I'll be
barefoot.
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