I Never was a Gypsy

When I was young, I wanted to be Gypsy like Esmeralda from the Hunchback of Notre Dame, that lovely Disney movie with the horse that sat on command like a dog. I wanted to travel the world never calling one place home and carrying all I had on my back. I wanted to make friends all over, have adventures, just living a wonderful non-mundane life. Planning to travel, I would shout, “Finland, here I come. Yosemite, wait for me. Alaska, I want to see you again. Hawaii, why are you so far away?”

Things didn’t work out as I planned. Unexpected bills and other expenses came up. I had to work for my living disappointment and that disappointment was bearable. I had friends where I was and could go on daily adventures. I couldn’t be a gypsy but I was happy just the same. I wanted to travel but knew I needed a nest to return to.

Looking back, I never was a tumbleweed. I was a seedling with roots not deep enough to realize that I was a tree. I call myself a young tree now, a sapling, if you will. My roots are spreading, digging deeper while my branches reach to the world around me. No matter how far the branch goes it always is attached to its roots. It doesn’t mean I won’t ever travel. I will travel as much as I can. I will travel the opportunity  arises and enjoy it. But if I don’t get to go, it won’t hurt that much.

No, I never was a Gypsy.


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