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Tuesday, October 05, 2004


So, I was watching the movie Blue Crush on Sunday afternoon, (Shut up. It was on cable for free, and I clicked by during one of the cool-looking surfing scenes and got sucked in.) and I was seized by a longing to chuck my boring everyday life and move to Hawaii, where I would live at the beach and learn to surf. Somehow in this fantasy I also have Kate Bosworth’s body, but that’s a whole separate delusion.

The thing is, I’d never actually do it. Or move to Paris or Tuscany or London or Ireland or wherever it is that looks good to me based on a movie I saw or book that I read. But I know that there are people who do just that. My husband’s relatives all seem to be ready to try a new place at the drop of a hat, so he just thinks it is normal. I, on the other hand, get caught up in the romance of the idea for approximately 5.2 seconds, and then reality starts to intrude.

I mean, where would we live? I can’t even pull off buying a house in this country. Would anyone want to hire us to do anything? If we went to Europe, how would Seamus get there? Because he would be the dog who freaks out in the luggage compartment of the plane, gets out of his crate, and chews through some vital wiring in the landing gear.

John looks at the idea and says “Everything would be different! ” and I look at the idea and “But everything would be different. ” All the stores, all the people, all the roads. I wouldn’t know how to find anything. Even the notion of moving to a city that I love, like Vancouver, is intimidating to me.

Am I missing some sort of adventure gene? Or is it that I am more content with the way things are?