the problem that has no name

In the 1960s, Betty Friedan wrote about a "problem that has no name," referring to a quiet desperation among housewives in that time. With an increasing number of modern advancements, such as electric washing machines, automobiles, televisions, Hitachi Magic Wands*, etc., at her disposal, the woman of the sixties should have little to complain about. But, Friedan argues, while the evening's stew bubbled in her shiny new crock pot, her thoughts marinated in a salty broth of dissatisfaction... of the knowledge that there must be something more to this life.

*I'm not sure that Hitachi Magic Wands existed in Friedan's time, but would that they were!

Ever since my Junior year of college, when I took my first trip outside of the US (Cuernavaca, Mexico, for a Spanish language intensive program at Cetlalic - go there!), I've felt a tugging need to see the world. Mexico opened this midwestern gal's eyes and I knew from that moment that I had to see it all. So, I've done my best to make traveling a priority in my life, hence the Vantasy.

But I've noticed that each time I manage to break away from my "normal" life to travel, I get an unwanted visit from Desperation. Most of the time, it waits in the corners of my mind, allowing me to go about my adventurous days in a mostly happy state. I might even experience elation while traveling, but the despair is always there, nudging at me, asking, "Is this it? Is this what you wanted?" And if I turn my head away from it, agreeing that, yes, this is what I want, Desperation plays it's trump card: "You're all alone. Tell me again why you're doing this."

And I have no really good answer. At least, not an answer which is good enough to make Desperation go away. Sure, I'd like to be sleeping in my bed. I'd like the luxury of a shower anytime I want one. I miss my friends. I miss having a paycheck. But these are all things of comfort, and as I've said in earlier blogs, it takes discomfort to grow. It's uncomfortable to roll into a new town and wonder where I should park. It's uncomfortable to be alone most of the day. It's uncomfortable to have diarrhea and have to RUN to the nearest bar at 10:00pm, which is a pool hall/cardroom full of staring men, just so I can sit, doubled over in pain on their questionably clean toilet and emerge from the bathroom fifteen minutes later to more stares. It's uncomfortable to look Desperation in face, and agree to take it on a road trip just so I can do a bit of growing.

Come to think of it, I think that is the answer. I'm addicted to discomfort. It makes me feel alive, challenged. A trip like this would just be a vacation if I didn't bring my friend, my "problem that has no name", along with me. I know there's something more to life, and I'm going to find it out here. Ralgh gets the backseat, Desperation gets shotgun, and I'll drive us all around, through rainstorms, over rocky roads, and into sunsets until we find what we are looking for.