Wearing a hole in her boots.
The Wandering Nine with Laurie Wagner.
“The perfect wander is no map, a loose destination, and time.”
I met Laurie Wagner over two decades ago at a writing workshop. I’d suddenly plunked my money down and ended up traveling to Los Padres National Forest, and in a circle of powerful women writers. This was my first time reading my work. Way back then, I scarcely believed that I could write. I heard Laurie speak her ferocious story in a confident voice, and I knew I had get closer to that wild, true voice. In no time, I was sitting at her table exchanging notions of what we wanted to write, staying at each other’s homes, walking the streets of our respective cities, hers— Alameda; mine—Seattle, and talking about everything from unconventional relationships to lifesaving poetry.
When I developed the Wandering Nine questions, Laurie was one of the humans I knew would bring a fascinating story. Her writing trips all over the world are legendary, and her wide-ranging wandering practices were just the kind that I wished to imagine myself into. I could tell you a hundred stories of the ways I love her—her generosity and listening and giant heart, but I’ll let her speak for herself.
How do you define wandering for yourself? What qualities does a wander have in it, vs a vacation or a trip?
When I think of vacation or a trip, I think of an itinerary and keeping track of time, or promises you made because you said you’d be someplace at a certain time, and that feels constricting to me.
What I’ve come to love in my wanderings over the last ten years in places like Bali, Kathmandu and Mexico is being somewhere for a long enough time that I am able to create a home base, a place to leave from each day and come back to at days’ end. This is an anchor which gives me enough ground that I can toss myself out into the streets, leaving just enough bread crumbs to get home again.
I might leave the house thinking, “I need milk,” which is just enough of a reason to pull my boots on and go, but I may not get my hands on that milk for hours. The milk is an excuse to explore and get lost. I need time, I need my boots, a hat, and music - I’m almost always listening to music as I wander. It’s a soundtrack that adds an emotionality to the wandering. One of my favorite moments in my entire life was running down a mountain path in the Himalayas, all by myself. It was lightly raining, I was alone, and I was listening to rock and roll as I ran. Something about that. Something about being so far from home, running alone in the rain alone in the Himalayas. There’s a feeling there of belonging - not to one place, but to everything.
Would you describe yourself as having wanderlust? Where did that come from?
I don’t think so. I’m a double Taurus, a very grounded, earthy animal and fairly devoted to one place. I have lived in my home for 28 years and I never think of moving, even though the water is rising around my little island, and someone told me that the best time to sell my home would have been 10 years ago. People often talked about places they wanted to travel. I never had that feeling until I took my first trip to Bali, and then to Kathmandu and to Mexico - places where I was invited to work, but not places I had thought I wanted to go.
Until I got there.
Until I saw and experienced things I’d never seen before; a Balinese family building a funeral pyre in front of their house for a relative who had died, the call to prayer coming over the speakers in Heathrow Airport, little altars made of flowers and candy put out on the streets three times a day in Ubud, and the altars that are placed on motorcycles to protect the bike riders, but more importantly, the animals they might hit when they ride. I could go on and on.
Wandering, not having a destination, allows me to see and hear things that startle me into awakening.
What was your last wander? Why did you choose it (or did it choose you?)
During Covid I rented a house in San Miguel de Allende for two months, a city in the mountains of Mexico. That small house, covered in pink bougainvillea, with a bathtub on the roof for early morning and night time soaks, became my home base, tethering me to a place to wander away from and come back to at days end.
Like most homes in Mexico, it was tucked behind a large wall, and so when I left the house each day, I’d step through a door in the wall and dropped into a river of people - children walking to school - mothers and dogs and folks heading to work. That rhythm, that flow pulled me into the city where I would wander for hours, taking streets I’d never taken, trusting my intuition, finding myself in neighborhoods I didn’t know the name of, heading up hills that turned to dirt, totally off the grid, horses replacing cars, dogs everywhere. Each day I walked for hours. The city was big enough to get lost in, but small enough not to be afraid.
I was teaching on Zoom every morning, so I had enough of a structure that had me feel, I don’t know, like I was getting something done. After that, I’d take off. I loved being anonymous, I loved being alone because you don’t have to negotiate with anyone. My job, the muscle I was building was listening to my intuition and my instinct; turn here, go up there, what’s that sound? That internal space of listening and trusting and being on my feet is exhilarating to me.
I can still smell the fresh tortillas at the corner tortilleria in the mornings. I can see the pink haired Mexican teenagers lounging on benches outside of their school waiting for it to open, the churro man asleep in front of his fresh pile of churros mid-day. And the bells, which ring in San Miguel on the half hour, and the fireworks at 6 am to wake people for church. If I don’t have a destination, then everything I discover along my path might be exactly what I’ve come for.
4. What’s your idea of the perfect wander?
I like foreign cities. I like being a stranger who gets to wander right into the heart of things, and into a totally different word. I’m a terrible map reader, so the places I end up are often places I discover by stumbling upon them. The perfect wander for me doesn’t need a map, just time and a good pair of shoes - though when I was in Mexico for two months I wore a hole in my boots - which is either a sign of a good trip or a bad stride.
When I lived in Bali for a month, I’d walk every morning before it got hot and muggy. I’d climb this hill, keeping my eyes on the monkeys gathered on phone lines overhead, making sure a crazy one didn’t swoop down to grab my hair as I passed under them. I’d see shopkeepers sloshing big buckets of water outside of their stores to wash the entrance clean. Families of four on one motorbike, swerving in and out of traffic, an open marketplace of vendors, a commotion of morning voices, piles of bananas and papayas, durian, mangosteen and snakeskin fruit.
The perfect wander is no map, a loose destination, and time.
5. What’s your biggest fear about wandering into an unknown place?
Once I found myself alone in a section of Paris where I had no business being. I was hot and lost, I didn’t speak French and the streets seemed full of men with wandering hands. I had no sense of direction and I have a feeling I circled the same five blocks for hours. The man who “saved me” found me a hotel, negotiated with the owner and then promptly wanted a back rub in the room after he helped me with my luggage. I got out of it - I was so hot and tired, I cried. But maybe that’s my biggest fear; being lost in a place that feels dangerous and not speaking the language or knowing how to get help.
One night in the South of France, I was alone and watching a mime in the brightly lit town square. At one point he told the crowd around him - with his hands - that he needed actors for his show and without thinking my arm shot up, and I became one of 10 people who, without words, performed a play he made up, each of us taking on some wonderfully stupid roll – I may have been the town sweeper who chased people with my broom. All I remember was laughing – laughing harder than I’ve probably ever laughed in my life for the absolute joy I felt. How could I be this happy, I wondered, so far from home, and alone?
Have you had a journey cancelled or something go awry on an adventure? What happened? What was the effect on you?
I had been alone in Mexico for two months and I was looking forward to my family coming for Christmas. I ordered lots of tamales from the nuns at the church, I bought flan from the bakery down the streets, and I’d begun collecting gifts and candles and all sorts of treats to make a beautiful Mexican Christmas dinner. Being alone wasn’t hard for me, but knowing my people were coming was something to look forward to. But then Covid hit a spike and they didn’t think it was a good idea to leave the states, especially when the U.S. wasn’t letting anyone come back if they had Covid. I ended up giving the tamales and the rice to Fernando, the old night watchman at the compound I was living in. I gave the flan and the sweets to Ricardo, the gardener.
On Christmas Day I ended up alone in the town square, which was full of people and mariachi bands, families and dogs, girls in pretty dresses, lots of ladies in high heels. There was a giant Christmas tree in front of the big church, which was lit up all pink and gorgeous. Lots of human commotion; kids chasing balloons, a line of nuns in black habit walking through the square, people lining up for ice cream, taking selfies. All of humanity in one place.
I sat on the steps of the church watching everyone, listening to Eckhart Tolle on my headset as he talked about how human beings get lost - but not in a good way. It was perfectly interesting to me - all of it; the tamales I gave away, the pandemic which kept my family home, a world of people taking selfies, the hole in my boot I’d gotten from walking, being alone in crowded town square on a major holiday. I didn’t mind any of it. It was all compelling to me. I was just a person among people. Just one human being trying to land where I was and not wish to be anywhere else.
7. What are your favorite things/values to pack?
Headphones and sleeping aids. Boots. Ear plugs.
8. What’s your greatest extravagance when you wander?
I don’t know how to answer this. To be a white person in a foreign country is already an extravagance. It means I come with money that I’m willing to spend. I like textiles and taking home the colors of different places. If I spend my money on anything it’s that. I probably wouldn’t spend money on textiles here at home, but in Nepal or Bali or Mexico, you’re bringing home the vibe of the place through the colors.
9. What do you most value in a wandering companion?
Someone who is comfortable getting a little lost, but who also has a good sense of direction. Someone who is comfortable not speaking all the time. Someone who isn’t afraid to take off on their own for a few hours, not just so I can be alone, but so they might experience what I so value, which is being on my feet, alone, far from home and finding my way.
Laurie Wagner has been publishing books and essays, and teaching writing for the last 25 years. She is a process guru and has a genius for holding space, helping people unzip what’s inside of them, and get ink on the page. A creative brain-stormer, she specializes in out of the box ways to tell your stories. Her Wild Writing classes are the cornerstone of her live work. She teaches weekly, small groups, and also hosts The Wild Family, a large group of writers from around the world who write together weekly. She is the author of Living Happily Ever After: Couples Talk about Long Term Love, and Expectations: 30 Women Talk about Becoming a Mother. Check out her blog at: 27powers.org
Laurie’s Writing Trip to Taos is sold out, but you can join her at the Himalayan Writers Workshop, or go to her website soon for information on her writing trip to Mexico in January.
A Few More:
In the next months I’m going to be offering paid subscribers benefits like reports from the Dublin Fringe Fest, the islands of Greece, food touring in Italia, and more. I’ll be back in two weeks to write about how it is to leave a home to wander, and what we’ll be leaving behind and taking with us on our wandering. If you’d like writing prompts and other ways to open up your life for exploration, please consider becoming a paid subscriber now. These funds support my writing, and give me an opportunity to bring writers who need scholarships and mentoring into their work.
One of my big joys this past month was an interview I did with Priscilla Long, based on her new book, Dancing with the Muse in Old Age. This conversation busted my internalized ageism, and got me thinking about the many works I have yet to write.
Bonus: Laurie’s playlist from a recent journey:
I can hardly believe this boy that I married is turning 65 today. Thankful for all of the characters and notions we’ve been in these decades. Happy birthday, love.
