I think I can safely say I have the wanderlust. But what does that mean exactly? I want to travel, I want to write, I love to live vicariously thru others experiences and travels. Listening to courageous stories, sometimes outrageous, sometimes trying, but accessible somehow. I am able to picture myself in the scene. Trekking in Napal, lounging on a beach in Mexico, traveling by boat in the middle of Southeast Asia, enjoying the local fare at a street market, reflecting on a sunset or comtemplating a sunrise. Yes, I have the wanderlust.
I have the resources to travel sometimes, mostly once a year, twice if I am lucky. To far off destinations that take me out of my comfort zone and help me to feel truly far from home. But what about experiences closer, what about weekend trips, day hikes, and evening cocktails entertaining a new band. These elicit many of the same feelings that I want to have, that I feel a need for. It’s a bit like the air that I breath, and when I don’t do it for a while I feel suffocated. When I am doing it, often times, I feel giddy….like a child. Experiencing something I have felt before and long to feel again. Yes, I have the wanderlust.
I sometimes feel it when I get home from a long nite, and I am quiet in my apartment, I pick up a book or make a cup of tea, and I can feel that sense of being far away. Sometimes I feel it when I venture across the city on foot or by the bus, as if I am going to get off somewhere I have never been….even it is one of my favorite haunts. Yes, I have the wanderlust.
It’s not a place, not even an experience. It’s a feeling, it’s within my grasp, and yet so often, I am looking beyond it, feeling that is out of reach….Wanderlust, it can sometimes feel elusive, mysterious, even sexy. But so many other times, it feels like a warm blanket, familiar and comforting.