If I Felt Well Contemporary SeekerIf I felt well, I’d have done countless different things,
everything differently.
I’d pack-up my belongings time and again,
in a backpack to be thrown over my shoulder,
hop on planes, buses and trains to nowhere, but somewhere;
yet each stop would be temporary.
I’d go to Europe to wander all over; take menial jobs just to get by,
traveling with me and a backpack
complete with toothbrush, jeans, and sweatshirt –
maybe a t-shirt and shorts for cooler gear.
I’d buy clothes in secondhand shops to be given away
when packed-up to travel to the next place.
I’d be a wanderer for sure; leaving over and over again.
Seeing the world, waking up feeling effervescent and healthy.
Jumping out of hostel beds every morning,
or maybe the flat that I was renting for a few months
because I found a restaurant job paying well enough in tips;
I could afford a higher rent for a short time.
Beginning each day in a local coffee shop or diner;
munching on a chocolate croissant
because I could; food wouldn’t make me sick.
I’d wash it down with black coffee and have butterflies;
true butterflies because I was beginning a new day … healthy.
Days filled with wandering, dreaming, loving,
exploring and writing every eve.
In a different city or town, I’d awaken because I know that I’d be taking that backpack to maybe hop on a plane
to a small town in middle America.
Somewhere that I could blend in for a while, get to know the locals,
feel at home – if home is really even a place;
I think it’s just inside of you.
So outwardly I’d experience everything
because when you’re healthy you can.
And I’d spend at least one Christmas in a teeny tiny small town,
renting a house with a white picket fence,
strung with white lights to celebrate the holiday season.
I’d only be staying for a while, though,
because I’d be packing up that backpack;
handing in my secondhand clothes; getting ready for the next locale.
I’d spend time with my parents; maybe for a few months at a time,
rent a room nearby or offer them my meager wage
so I could hang for a while and play with mom and pay for food.
Because that’s all I’d need; when you’re healthy you can do that.
So food, a roof and some clothing – I could go anywhere, be anything.
I could help dad with his work when needed,
but then I’d be able to pack it up again.
Stop along the east coast, check-in on my sister and her little ones;
maybe some old friends.
I’d even stay for a month, or six,
if my small job paid for the room that long.
That’s all I’d need is a room with a stove, a refrigerator, a bed and air.
I’d wander each oasis and every concrete jungle.
I’d write, blog, sing, love, laugh, hike and explore.
Because when you’re healthy you can do those things.
Not enslaved to a career or job to afford healthcare
in order to stay alive.
Nor would you need a pristine home to breathe in the night. No.
When you’re healthy you can wander, stay,
or leave over and over again.
Yes. If I felt well, I’d have done countless different things,
everything differently.
———————–
A dream along my path of chronic illnesses and disability – hope is a beautiful thing.
© Blogger Melody Jean | ContemporarySeeker.com

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