Sabbatical: Finding What I Wasn't Looking For

Numerous times, numerous seasons in my life, I have fantasized about simply walking away from my place in syphilization and taking up residence in the back country for a life of abject solitude. In that respect, I envy Jack (no middle name) Reacher's nomadic life. Off-grid. Out of society's clutches simply by boarding the next bus on the road to everywhere and nowhere. The key difference. He weaves in and out of the general public, stumbling into all sorts of mayhem, whereas my phlegmatic personality prefers the serenity of forests, mountains, plains, and deserts, as long as the location is devoid of other human elements. What kept me in situ rather than pursuing my fantasy was the responsibility to those individuals depending on me for food, shelter, and guidance, responsibilities I owned up to, for I am not a monster. Err...not that type of monster. Not that the nuances are worth dithering over, for any dissimilarities are mere pettifog.