Haven’t you traveled enough?
It’s not enough for me to have seen Italy in the fall. I want to see it in the spring, summer, and winter. I want to see the natural wonders of Iceland and witness the beauty of the aurora borealis. I want to sleep in a glass igloo in Finland in the dead of winter surrounded by snow coated forests. I want to eat a baguette in France, see the castle Disney based Cinderella’s on, see tulips in bloom in the Netherlands. I want to be the one that takes those awesome photographs you see on travel sites telling you where to go and what to do.
I don’t believe in listening to those people who cast shadows of doubt over my choices to see the world. I don’t chastise them for wanting to stay home and be content in one spot in the vast world. Sometimes I like being still. Just not for very long.
I think a gorgeous life consists of new experiences, and for me those are centralized in my love for travel. I want to know someone in every country. Buy a postcard and have my new friends sign it so I can remember where we met. People have their traditions and mine is seeing the world.
On my last trip, there were travelers who had already spent several months away from home. It’s a norm in their country to take a massive trip to Europe and explore every corner, not just one time, but several times throughout their lives. What an incredible thing to have that be a societal norm, for travel to be embraced and not scorned as a daydream that will never come to fruition. For travel not to be seen as an escape from the toils of the real world. It opens your eyes to the real world, the real world others never give themselves the chance to see.
A house will never be easy to settle in for me. I have never felt truly at home in any apartment. I’m always consumed with the itch to move onward, seek new places. An apartment is just a temporary home. I can surround myself with memories of my travels to distract myself from the urge to go back, but it only does but so much to keep me restrained.
I feel more comfortable on a plane than in a car. More excited holding the railing inside the subway in Vienna than sitting on my sofa watching TV. My house is not my home. A home possesses the absolute essence of you that cannot be contained in one piece of furniture. My home is London, Oxford, Vienna. An empty Roman piazza at midnight. A canal walk in Amsterdam and Venice. Different places bring out the different pieces of my core, the abstract and simple, the beautiful and serene.
I cannot be whole when I have not discovered all the pieces, the ones scattered across the world for me to discover in experiences the way fate has destined me to.