Rambling on about the reality of dreams, science fiction possibilities, and staying grounded even in my dreams…

A free round-trip ticket to anywhere, I ought to have my answer ready. Ireland. I have been telling anyone willing to listen, and probably a few people who were merely standing nearby, for years. Ireland is my faithful, long-standing dream. But add the word anywhere, and suddenly I become a difficult customer.

Anywhere on a map? Anywhere in my imagination? Anywhere I have already been, but did not understand until it was too late? Before booking, I would need to know whether this airline accepts emotional baggage. Mine does not fit neatly under the seat.

H. G. Wells’s “The Time Machine” planted an idea in me this past week as I watched…  life moving and growing through time, the world changing while the years tick past on a meter. Change does not ask whether we are ready. It simply gathers up the furniture of our lives and rearranges it. And then there are Marty and Doc, making a person wonder whether yesterday might be negotiable. I occasionally see those internet stories about a supposed time traveler in an old photograph. I have no idea what to make of them. Today, though, I am less interested in proving time travel than in imagining what I would do with a ticket.

First thought… My destination would be my senior year of high school. Graduation, to be exact. Not because I want to sit through the ceremony again. I would go back for the girl standing at the edge of everything, with so much still ahead of her and so little idea of what the next three months would bring.

Between graduation and August of 1976, my life became the life I found myself living. I would like to remember that stretch more clearly. To be able to look closely at what I did, what I wanted, and what I let happen. Perhaps to correct a few things. Such a small, innocent phrase… correct a few things. As though I am straightening a picture on the wall, not reaching into the machinery of an entire life.

If I changed those months, where would the return ticket bring me?

Would I come home to another city? Another family? Would I have the career I once dreamed of, and a life in which I felt more firmly planted? Would I recognize the woman answering my own front door? I can imagine wanting a different life. It is harder to imagine discovering which parts of this one I would have lost along the way. The people I know and love are not spare pieces I could casually exchange for a tidier story.

Perhaps I would tell that younger girl everything. Perhaps I would only sit beside her for a while, listen, and ask what she truly wanted before the world got so loud. I would like to believe I could leave without changing anything. But I know myself. I would probably begin with, “Just one small suggestion,” and miss my flight home.

Second thought… The future is tempting, too. I could skip ahead and see whether the chaos and insanity of today ever settle into something I understand. Find out whether I feel less alone. Whether there is a place waiting where I feel part of life, part of family, part of a circle of people and not just merely feel them nearby.

But if I found it, would I want to use the return fare?

That is the question hiding inside my lovely little travel fantasy. I am imagining a search mission as much as a vacation. I want somewhere the days make more sense. Somewhere I can be happy without having to pretend that being alone never hurts.

Could that place be Ireland?

I hope so. I have loved the idea of it for so long that I wonder what meeting the real place would feel like. I would like to arrive without asking it to solve my whole life. That seems a great deal to demand of a country before I have even unpacked. I could let it be itself. I could walk, look, listen, and discover whether the dream and the place recognize each other. Perhaps I would feel at home. Perhaps I would simply feel wonderfully awake.

And then… another possibility wanders in, entirely without respect for my budget or my sensible shoes. What about a round-trip ticket to The World?

Not one destination carrying the burden of every wish I have ever made, but a journey with room to be surprised. Ireland could be the beginning. Beyond it, places I have not yet thought to want. Days that do not already know my name or expect me to follow the usual routine. I would not have to find a perfect place immediately. I could take my time noticing where I felt comfortable, where I wanted to linger, where a conversation made me feel less like a visitor to life.

Coming back to the ordinary still sounds difficult. I will not pretend that a suitcase and a few photographs would erase loneliness, or that every dream has a convenient return route. But I might come back with something I could use such as a clearer idea of what I want next. A place worth returning to.

So yes, Ireland is still my answer. The past still has its pull, and the future can keep its secrets a little longer. But if the person holding the ticket really means anywhere, I may have one final question.  Just how many stops am I allowed?