When I was 15, I ran away from home. While I recall some of the details as to why, they aren’t especially important to this memory. Troubled, afraid, lonely, and seeing no way out of what was bothering me, I needed out. Out of my skin, my life, and the (perceived) mess I was in. I felt fleeing everything was the most viable option for me. As it happened, I had a friend who, for whatever reason, decided she needed to escape her world at that moment too, so we took what we had and decided to go together.

Destination unknown.

Except it was February in north central Alberta (Canada) in 1990… Which translates to COLD. Very, very cold. Looking at historical weather data (because my memory isn’t what it was), the average daytime temperature was around -26C, so as I recall, it was COLD. We drove aimlessly north of where I live. Then south, then north again. We had no money and I remember her writing a cheque she knew would bounce – I begged her not to, because I knew that was bad news, but she didn’t seem bothered by it. We got food, gas, and figured out what to do.

Her plan was to disappear for seven years. I just wanted to disappear for a few days to get my head cleared out. I was cold, even with the heater in her car’s station wagon running full blast. I had no winter coat, no boots, no mitts. I didn’t see how we’d make it through the night. I was glad I wasn’t on the street, but parking in the rural Alberta bush seemed a recipe for disaster too. I think it was around supper time I realized this ‘running away’ thing was an ill-thought-out idea. However, I was stuck in it – she was committed, and we were not returning home.

The clearest of memory I have is bunking down for the night. I know we were in a gas station parking lot, about two hours north of where we lived. The overnight temperature was about -35C. We had some blankets, but there is nothing that insulates from that kind of cold. We slept in the back of the station wagon. But really, there was no sleep. Not only did I have to go pee, I was so cold, I couldn’t stop shivering. I figure now, my brain knew enough not to sleep. I kept praying for morning, sunrise, anything to end that endless night.

I dreamt of home. Chicken soup (the Lipton’s kind), a hug from my Gramma, my little sister, my bed, home. An awake dream. I waited and waited as my friend, I think, slept beside me, my contempt growing. Angry that we were stuck here, even though it was my fault we were here, but mad she’d taken me so far away from everything. For helping me follow through on this stupid idea.

Morning finally broke – as it always does, and by some miracle, the car started. Home. I wanted to go home, I told her. She was not going home. Ever. But reluctantly, she took me back. Dropped me off at the high school (not the one we attended) but the one where I had friends and the ability to get home. My friends fed me lunch, and hugged me, as my family had been calling everyone trying to find me.

I don’t remember much else. If my parents were home from work, if my sister was in school? If there was worry? If there was soup? I know I ate fries at the cafeteria, and I got warm. I remember a hug from my Gramma when I did get home. I also remember calling my friend’s parents to tell them where I thought she was going, and they were not especially concerned about her. That was odd to me, as even though I didn’t always have a fantastic relationship with my own parents, they were worried about me.

The obvious lesson is running away solves nothing. But that’s just superficial. Sometimes, leaving a troubled situation does give you perspective. Even 24 hours can give you some clarity on something that seems insurmountable, which is what my adventure in the cold Alberta winter did. I do not always employ this, even now, which I really should. I get stuck on a problem and cannot see my way out of it. The best thing I can and should do, is walk away from it. Even for a couple hours! When I do that, it usually sorts itself out and provides a clearer path forward for me.

Oh I remember the cold. I remember seeing and hugging my Gramma. I remember learning that problems can be figured out. Sometimes, you just need to give yourself the space to do so. Not all memories have lessons, but this one really reminded me that I need to go with grace and allow myself the time and patience to take a step back, breathe, and find a new direction. Even at (almost) 50.

PS The first time I ran away, I was 3, packed all my stuffed animals and underwear into a brown paper bag, and ended up on the doorstep of some kindly seniors. They lived in a housing complex across the alley from the first home I lived in as a child. Jack and his wife took me in and kept me safe until my parents figured out where I had gone. I was fighting the injustice of my parent’s grounding my brother! I’ve always stood up for the underdog (even when it may not have been in my best interest). Such an advocate of the people. <eye roll> Silly little girl…

Much love, my chickens.