Sometimes I feel like a nomad, wandering the desert without a permanent home. And since I’m literally writing this from the Nevada desert I’d say it’s a pretty good analogy.
I find myself in far off lands, in worlds so different from the one I grew up in. There is a part of me that longs for the comforts of home and the sights & sounds of the familiar. But that part is tiny in comparison to the unquenchable thirst for knowing what is “out there.” What is beyond me, beyond my world, beyond my scope of comprehension.
It’s the disease I’ve carried since I was a child, it’s called Wanderlust. At least that is what my mom calls it.
It’s been a fun little “disease” so far. I learned to speak another language, eat spicy foods and love it, feel comfortable with all manner of people and so much more.
Yet the older I get, the more I struggle with it. Not because I miss the comforts of home, but because I miss the people of home. My family. I’m wondering if there is ever a time to turn the passport in (metaphorically speaking). Or can a balance be reached. Should a balance be reached?
How do you get rid of the wanderlust? Should you get rid of it? Can you feed the monster of Wanderlust and stick close to your family at the same time? Can you have your cake and eat it too?
What’s a girl to do?
