I want to go to Kathmandu.
I want to pack a backpack with only the bare essentials and get on a plane – with no reservations made for when I land. Emerge in a place where the people, the language, the environment are all completely strange to me. Try to figure out where I’m going to stay and what I’m going to do, free of the restraints that accompany anything I’m familiar with.
I want to grow my hair really, really long and wear flowing skirts and walk around the streets of Kathmandu with no shoes on my feet. I want to start playing guitar, maybe get some tattoos.
And it’s all Bob Seger’s fault. Listening to the first stanza of that song – it just hit me:
“I think I’m going to Kathmandu, that’s really really where I’m going to. If I ever get out of here, that’s what I’m gonna do. K-k-k-kathmandu!”
I want to go to Kathmandu. I want to write poetry that no one understands, maybe not even me. Maybe especially not even me.
Maybe, just maybe…If I ever get out of here.
I’ll send Bob Seger a postcard.