Take what happened to me in Bali. I planned on going to Ubud, then met a man on an airplane who told me it was too touristy. He gave me an address on the other side of the island, which turned out to be a palace where I lived for four years.

When I'm by myself, I'm not threatening at all. I get many more invitations than I would if I were traveling with anyone else, especially with a man. But I'm rarely alone. I sit on a park bench and I'm not alone because I pick a park bench where somebody interesting is sitting.

There were times that the kids were upset I wasn't there, those three times a year they needed me. The rest of the time, I'm sure that I wasn't in their thoughts.

Even here, in the U.S., I walk my daughter's dog and I look for interesting people sitting at a picnic table and I walk over with my white hair and I ask, Would you mind if I sat and rested here for a minute? Nobody would refuse that.

I came back once or twice a year to visit my family, and then I would take off again. In the beginning, I think everybody thought I would get over it and get it out of my system. And I never did.

I don't want to be responsible anymore. I don't want to have plans. I just want to float through the world.