Is wanderlust uncurable? #HazardousToYourSanity #ReadingCommunity #WritingCommunity
I remember being a child, maybe 10 years old, sitting on my bed and shuffling through the pages of a traveling magazine.
It’s still going strong, and it's called Bell’Europa (Beautiful Europa). I still can feel the wonder, the curiosity, the pull of those faraway places.
The gentle hills of Ireland, the harsh beauty of Scotland (two places I still love fiercely, and the ones I would choose if I could pick a place to live in Europe). Paris, the magical forests in Romania, the romance of an Arabian night.
I read and dreamed.
Hard.
And then, one day I found myself at a crossroads.
I was done with University and about to start my adult life.
My then-boyfriend (now husband) felt the pull of somewhere else just as much, and both wanted to see where that pull would take us.
We were free.
I discussed my thesis in June, he did it in July, and on August 1 we were on a plane heading to Norwich, UK, with a huge (HUGE) luggage, little money, and zero knowledge of the English language.
It was a wild ride.
Dealing with finding a place to live, opening a bank account, and rationing the little money we had until we found a job.
It was thrillingly hard.
The two of us against the odds.
Our first home was a bedroom in a shared apartment with two guys from India. After living with them, Indian food is still my favorite. Then an Irish guy became a roommate.
We upgraded to our home, a one-bedroom apartment, roughly 6 months after we left what then was home. The apartment had no heating, only an electric heater and remember, England is not a warm place.
My husband did his Ph.D. there, and I started teaching Italian and writing.
We were cold all the time but man, we were building, and the world that seemed so big kind of shrank, but never lost its appeal. Because now all the places that we only knew by books or movies had become a reality through knowing people coming from those places.
They were reachable.
After his Ph.D., Marco was offered a job in Florida. The other side of the Atlantic. Thousands of miles away from Mother Europe.
We didn’t think for one second.
When we landed in Miami in June there was this gigantic, yellow thing in the bluest sky. The heat was a bear hug that left little to be questioned.
We started with zero plan to stay or to leave and... we grew up.
The kids. The house. Our position in the world we made for ourselves is not transient anymore.
And yet.
That tingling always comes up.
What about another state? What about another adventure of chasing a house, of reimagining our life bringing with us the core of what we are as we change once again?
Turning everything and adding another layer of knowledge that inevitably comes with moving away from the familiar.
And it’s not like we’re not happy here.
We truly, truly are.
We have great friends, and we are settled.
But….
There’s still all of that US out there to live.
I honestly don’t know what will happen.
We’ll get to a point where we’ll settle for good because of the kids. But they are still young enough to be okay with moving.
I don’t know.
Sometimes I feel like I just want one more.
Just one more jump, and then I’ll be ok. That thirst will be quenched.
So, to answer the title’s question, I’m not sure wanderlust can be cured. Or that is should be cured at all.
Every person different from you, every place other than home, teaches you something.
And learning others is the most important thing.
Where did you live, or where would you move in a heartbeat given the chance?
Catch me at
1 comments:
Any question, I'm right here!
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