I used to consider myself a very home-oriented person. I like having a cozy place to retreat to at the end of the day, and I take comfort in knowing everything will be just as I left it. I've always loved traveling and seeing other places, but actually living there - sleeping in strange beds, drinking strange water - was always a struggle.
I'm not sure if it's a result of living at school or just growing up, but lately I've been drawn to traveling. There is something in me that longs for the movement and the unpredictability. A voice in the back of my mind telling me to just go. To get on a bus or a train, with only a backpack and some cash, and just go.
I think that's what they call wanderlust.
It's not that I don't like where I live now, or my life, my friends. It's not that I need to find anything I am missing. It's that I need to look for things. I need to look for things that make me happy, for things that make me sad. For things that scare me and things that thrill me. I need to seek these things out because who knows if they would come to me, if I just sat here and waited.
I guess some of it is also independence. Not so much that I want more of it, but I need to prove that I can handle it. If I convince myself that I don't need anyone else, that I can handle doing everything alone, then maybe I will let myself be not-alone, sometimes.
Of course there is another part of me that always steps in, brings me back to reality. School. Family. Money. Having a guaranteed roof over my head. All reasons I use to stop myself from taking off and never looking back. I know a day will come when these barriers no longer exist, when the gate is open and nobody is there to close it in my face. I'm waiting for that day, but I'm not quite sure what will happen when it does.
But this feeling is fleeting, and some days I don't even feel like leaving my bed, let alone the city. I know it will never completely disappear, though. I don't think I'd ever want to stop wandering, or dreaming about wandering.
Goodnight, bloglings
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