Wanderlust

Home is a strange place for those of us who are perpetual wanderers.

I have always had a concept of home. Home is where your family is. Where you store all your childhood memories. Where you climbed the trees and built Lego forts. Where even the smells are familiar. Fresh baked bread and laundry soap.

I  think that there is a funny difference between home as a place and home as an entity. I don't miss my home because of the house or the town I miss it because of the people, the memories, the smells, the comfort of innocence.

As I grow up more and more, I realize the strangeness of "home". I have had more than one home in the past four years. From the dorms at MSU, to my hut in Africa,  to the U-haul in Seattle. Each of them has been a separate and unique experience. With each one however, I experienced "homesickness". I am sure you have experienced this as well. That feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes you want to curl up in your mamma's  embrace and breathe deep.

What is it that makes us feel this way? When I was a teenager, I couldn't wait to get out of my house. Out of that silly one horse town , out of the country, out of the world! When I did though, I was surprised to feel a twinge of remorse that I didn't appreciate "home" as much as I should have.

I remember when I was tiny (probably eight or ten) my sisters, some neighborhood kids and I, planned to run away together. We packed our backpacks with all the essentials, beany babies, Ramona books, gram-crackers and peanut butter for survival. Most important were our baby dolls, whose souls and lives had been entrusted to us passionate young mothers. Our plan was flawless. We were going to sneak out at ten o'clock on a Tuesday and  head for the hills! (one of the neighborhood kids had a family cabin in the forest and we were sure no one would find us there) When the scheduled night came, I remember being so anxious. I stayed up all night long pretending that I was asleep when my parents would peek in. To my horror, I woke up in my bed the following morning! I had missed it! I had fallen asleep for real.

The neighborhood gang all met up that afternoon. We all sheepishly gathered around and made excuses as to why none of us had showed up. "Running away is for stupid teenagers" "I really don't want to leave my dog, he would miss me" and such. We then moved on to the next adventure of building a functional battleship in my back yard.( I say functional because we had running water thanks to the garden hose).

 The failed collaborative running away was never mentioned again. However from that point on there was always the possibility that my life could be an adventure. Home was a place that you left behind. In my mind all of the things that made me angry were part of this idea of "home". I was going to escape from there in a burst of adventure and romance.

My wanderlust is still not satiated. Even after stargazing in Texas, serving the unfortunate in Africa, visiting the pyramids in Mexico, traipsing through the Edinburgh castle..... For all the wanderings and homesickness, I still felt out of place when I came back to Montana.

 I recently fulfilled my childhood vision of running away in the middle of the night. It took me slightly longer to get ready. I was also a bit more prepared this time. I didn't bring my doll along. My friend and I spent the better part of a month road- tripping down Highway 101. I had nothing but what was in my backpack...I have never been so satisfied with life than I was knowing that I didn't have a plan. Camping on the beach. People watching in tourist towns. Enjoying a campfire with a new friend. Chilling on a horse boarding farm/campground. It was epic.

I ended up running out of money in Seattle...which is why I got a job and stayed. I was on an adventure high... until I began to feel that familiar twinge in my belly. Time to go home.

This time however, home had a new feeling. A feeling of appreciation for the love and memories that surrounded my childhood. I used to carry around this nebulous emotion of discontent when I had been home before. I know now that without that discontent I never would have pushed myself to become a wanderer.

I think I know now why that little girl (with all the romantic running away plans) inside me still speaks. She knows that the world is full of beauty and heartache all in one. She knows that there is an adventurer in everyone. I think the reason I continue to wander is that I always secretly listened to her. I never let her voice be drowned out by the expectations of the american dream.

To some of you this post will be like listening to a burned out hippy rattle on about world peace. I hope however that in some of you it strikes up a curiosity. Maybe even a motivation to start quieting the noise in your life. Take the time remember that radical kid you used to be. The one who wanted to be an astronaut. The one who wanted to be a noodle maker. The wanderer.


Peace.

Cally Jane