A girl and the wind.
September 18, 2012 § Leave a comment
It took just shy of four months for the voice in the wind to return.
But, it’s back. Not with a vengeance just yet. But, that Desire to hand over a boarding pass and fly far, far away from here and all of the possibilities therein has most certainly made an appearance on the aft starboard deck of my tiny ship. She hasn’t been all that intrusive yet, just enjoying a glass of wine back there and occasionally chirping in with an opinion. (I haven’t really minded. Honestly, not having her there for the past four months has been kind of weird.)
Having a wanderer’s heart means I have nights where I dream of living full-time in the City, becoming a local at Cafe Grumpy on West 20th and picking up flowers on Saturday. Date nights in great restaurants with tall windows and laughing ’til I’m crying.
(Let’s get real. Sometimes, I just dream of date nights. But, that’s an entirely different post.)
Or, sometimes, I have visions of windows down driving with the sunroof back as The Civil Wars sing at full volume. We drive over the mountains under the stars, dreaming about what we’ll do with the schedule we don’t have.
Nicaragua. Take Jen with us and sleep in hammocks and squish our toes in the sand. We won’t shower for days at a time, but it won’t really matter.
San Juan has tempted me at least twice. Her low rent and old world style, coupled with a pair of fins and a sailboat or two, taunt me from right down the coast.
My spirit will always long to get paid a real salary to go visit all of my heartstrings.
I wonder, a veces, if I could ever live in Texas.
All it takes are a few plucks of banjo strings.
“Go,” whispers the wind.
If you don’t wander, it’s hard to explain all of this. Please hear me well. I love Raleigh as if she were my sister. Her people are beautiful and our casita is enchanting. A loneliness just sets in sometimes that I can’t quite verbalize. Unlike the echo within my heart for a teammate or a house full of rowdy boys, this one results in Me having conversations with Myself about how stealing a car is illegal.
I wish I was making this up.
Although, it’s been rumored that Me and Myself might have the same conversations if I were to have a house full of rowdy boys.
And then, Chris Cirincicicicminime sends me an article. Turns out I’m not the only one with the curse.
“An old vagabond in his 60s told me about it over a beer in Central America, goes something like this: The more places you see, the more things you see that appeal to you, but no one place has them all. In fact, each place has a smaller and smaller percentage of the things you love, the more things you see. It drives you, even subconsciously, to keep looking, for a place not that’s perfect (we all know there’s no Shangri-La), but just for a place that’s “just right for you.” But the curse is that the odds of finding “just right” get smaller, not larger, the more you experience. So you keep looking even more, but it always gets worse the more you see. This is Part A of the Curse.
Part B is relationships. The more you travel, the more numerous and profoundly varied the relationships you will have. But the more people you meet, the more diffused your time is with any of them. Since all these people can’t travel with you, it becomes more and more difficult to cultivate long term relationships the more you travel. Yet you keep traveling, and keep meeting amazing people, so it feels fulfilling, but eventually, you miss them all, and many have all but forgotten who you are. And then you make up for it by staying put somewhere long enough to develop roots and cultivate stronger relationships, but these people will never know what you know or see what you’ve seen, and you will always feel a tinge of loneliness, and you will want to tell your stories just a little bit more than they will want to hear them. The reason this is part of the Curse is that it gets worse the more you travel, yet travel seems to be a cure for a while.
None of this is to suggest that one should ever reduce travel. It’s just a warning to young Travelers, to expect, as part of the price, a rich life tinged with a bit of sadness and loneliness, and angst that’s like the same nostalgia everyone feels for special parts of their past, except multiplied by a thousand.”
If you wander, bring your photos and stories and beer and coffee and hugs and radiant spirit over to our casita anytime you’d like. Somehow, spending time with kindred spirits helps with the effects of the curse.
Besides, I’ve only been to three continents. And never to Italy.
(Hopefully, in the next 365 days, the latter part of that is changing.)
All the pathos and irony of leaving one’s youth behind is thus implicit in every joyous moment of travel: one knows that the first joy can never be recovered, and the wise traveler learns not to repeat successes but tries new places all the time. ~Paul Fussell