In the old country where I was born, there is a fairytale about a random dough dumpling that on the day of its creation, miraculously comes to life, jumps off the kitchen counter and starts rolling away. No matter how many times I’ve heard the story, it is still unclear to me as to why and where the dumb thing gets going: It wasn’t abused or anything, by its creator—an old, Russian babushka type—and there seems to be no better alternatives on its horizon.
Anyway: It starts rolling across the country, right? And we are talking Russia here: That place is fucking enormous. So enormous, that when you step out to get the morning paper, you just might end up having an epic adventure on your way to the corner store. Case in point: the dumpling. Never a boring day in Russia, it encounters different animals and things that want to eat it; but somehow, this brainless piece of dough outsmarts every one of them. And all the while, the annoying bugger is singing a little tune:
“I’ve left the old woman,
I’ve left the old man,
I’ve left the rabbit,
And the bear…”
And with every conquest, the list grows. You get it.
But every story has to end. So does the tale of the dumpling, when the prodigal idiot runs into a sly fox, gets seduced to jump onto its nose and… well, it’s not a happy ending for our little Russian buddy.
Why have I chosen this cautionary tale to introduce myself? (Insert the Jeopardy tune here.) Because I am the prodigal idiot—just like our happy dough wanderer—and I have been living my love life by leaving. (Say that one ten times.) It is up to medical professionals to determine the reasons for my flights. In the mean time: Here are my musings—
Dedicated to the army of my beloveds, never regretted, but always left behind.