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In the freak event that it would be socially acceptable amongst my friends and family for me to take a year off, I would, in the time, breath. I would breathe freely and evenly for months and months. I may do the clich and travel abroad, but only to mountainous or cooler regions where the air is purest. I would leave the first of January and return by Christmas. There would be no cell phones, no computers, no television and no contact with people that I knew up until that time. My family would just have to wait it out if they missed me that much because if I had an entire year, I would keep it entirely to myself.

In an emergency, you may be able to find me in the Andes or the Himalayas, perhaps the Swiss Alps or the Rockies if I felt like getting back to the U.S.A. for a few weeks. I would read in various libraries across the globe, entering only for the sack of a comfy chair. My meals would be lite and portable, allowing me to sample the cuisines of various nations, one right after the other. I would bath in warm springs and undoubtedly, my hair would grow long and wild, more so than it is now.
I would sleep in a thermal sleeping bag that I would carry on my back, in communal cabins at the summit of every mountain I climbed or in hostiles if the town I reached was urban enough to have such accommodations. Along with my sleeping bag, I would haul a water bottle, a poncho, a flash light, batteries, an extra hooded sweatshirt besides the one that I wore under my jacket, my debit card, and probably a stash of gourmet milk chocolate. The last two would be in case of emergencies of course.
A year of just breathing would be delicious in every sense of the word. A year off would mean no make-up, no picking outfits from stacks of clothes, no wasting time, no work left undone, and no wishes left un-granted. It would mean freedom, pleasure, alone time, and the glorious unknown. How often will I, as a middle class suburban American get to experience the unknown? I mean the real, fear instilling unknown that has thus far happened once.
The summer before I left for college it had me in its grasp, not knowing what to expect at a four year university five hours from home or even if I had made the right decision in going there. It is a fear like no other when the floor drops out from underneath a person and they fall with no idea when they will hit the ground or what will catch them. For me, it's a complete faith in fate and God that things will work out that keeps my feet on the floor. I would let myself fall though, given the that year off, just to see where it would take me.

Learn more about this author, Emily Heney.
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