In a sense I’ve always desired this life. Not the life of the business traveler which I am currently stuck in the middle of. Not the life of the hotel-living, airline miles crunching, cell phone, pager, laptop carrying “professional” … No, no that life. But the life of the free spirit with no geographical attachments. The life that lets you say “this weekend I’ll visit the Smithsonian”, “next weekend I’ll fly out to a concert in Southern California, drive through Joshua Tree National Park”, “who could I spend a weekend with in San Diego now that I have to fly out for a meeting nearby there?” … That aspect of this life I live.
For somebody who gets so attached to the daily routines of his day to day grind this is quite a contradiction. For somebody who tries to make it back into town on the day of his favorite dance outing, right before his weekend sports routine. Somebody who looks for patterns everywhere he looks. For somebody quite that predictable this is a level of unpredictability that might sounds irresponsible at times, given the instability of the formulation.
Calling it bohemian life is actually just that, bohemian in itself. Longing for something you know it is not. It might actually be that Bohemia today (I believe the term comes from an actual imaginary place, but I’ll have to look it up) is made up of these cities like Reston, VA. Cities out the outskirts of meaningful cities like Washington, DC where you end up waking up at 5 AM in the morning with a spinning brain. Cities with hotels, sports bars, offices and a few other interesting landmarks, but cities you don’t call home after all. Cities you just list down when asked “so, where have you been?”
So, where have you been?