There are moments throughout my life when I feel numbness and emptiness creep into my bloodstream and hinder my thoughts of productivity. Perhaps blame could be placed upon stress, or anxiety, or feelings of hopelessness, but quite honestly I place the blame upon myself. Once this feeling begins the process of infecting my body, it is as if each breath I take pushes it further and further through my veins until it has total control. I never have to act on the feeling, but I always choose to. Why? It is an indulgence. It is an ability to express myself to no one but myself, even if I have no idea what I am attempting to express. It is a release of the millions of thoughts scrambling for attention inside my head that act like white noise.

Typically, there are a variety of ways I can choose to act on this feeling, such as taking a long shower or writing about it. However, the way that is by far my favorite and I choose whenever possible is running away. I don’t mean the kind of running in which I lace up tennis shoes and work up a sweat. Instead I pick a road or a trail or a random place and walk or drive until I don’t know where I am. I leave everything behind, including stress, technology, and people. I don’t dare tell a soul where I’m going in fear they might follow, either out of worry or mere curiosity. The time I spend lost is the time most sacred to me.

I have been running away since the moment I was allowed to leave the house on my own. I never leave for more than a couple hours, because the thought of others worrying or getting actually lost is a fear that ruins the entire trip. So I make it short. When I lived at home, I would escape to the nearby trail and sit or walk around a meadow. Other times I would be on my way home from somewhere and instead pass my street, following the familiar road until it became unfamiliar, then find my way back. My parents never knew, or if they did they did not make it known. When I reached college, a whole new sense of freedom was handed to me, and with it a whole new presence of anxiety. I began to escape much more frequently.

I once was walking back from class, but instead chose to keep walking until I found myself behind the wheel of my car and driving down a road that led to nowhere. I stopped at a church with the most beautiful steeple and sat on the hood of my car as I watched the sun push below the horizon. I was not thinking about anything. I just watched the colors in the sky cast themselves upon the open field in front of me. It was quiet, and for the first time all week I felt peace within my mind.

I run away, not because I believe it will solve all my problems, but because it allows me to breathe. I run away so that I can relax without my homework taunting me from my desk or my phone begging for my attention or other people disrupting any peace that I have left within myself. I run away so that I may find myself again and mend any broken pieces that may have cracked when I was falling apart. I run away to make myself whole.

It might not make much sense, but it is something that has become engraved in who I am. I do not boast of my trips of solitude, nor do I seek attention from them. The trips are something entirely my own, and I treasure them. Perhaps someday, when the chaos of life has calmed, the urge to run away will disappear. But until that day comes, I’ll be often visiting the place where the Earth meets the sky and the road leads to nowhere. I’ll be back soon.