Wanderlust has often called out to me in my life. Sometimes it's been because I am suffering from the winter blues and am dreaming of a warm beach on a tropical island. My husband knows I've reached my limit when he finds me browsing internet travel sites at midnight in the darkness of January looking at internet airfares to Mexico and Hawaii. There are times that we've had the funds to indulge my need for sunshine. We've gone to that far off tropical island. And let me tell you, indulging one's need is often worse than continuing to tough it out in the dreary cold. It makes it so much harder the next time around.
Sometimes the wanderlust has come, because I can't stand one more day of a summer heat-wave and want to escape to a cool shoreline north of here. I've indulged myself in that arena as well. Once, when I was single, a dear friend and I decided we'd both beat the heat and took off after work on a Friday evening in my un-air-conditioned Honda Civic hatchback and headed up the coast of California to the cooler northern climes of Eureka. It is one of the best memories. I felt like I'd really taken control of a situation that seemed so out my control. Who can control the weather? Well, I felt like we did that weekend! And it felt so great and empowering.
Wanderlust has been a familiar feeling for most of my life. So it has been foreign to me to have this nesting homebody feeling that has come over me the past few years. I suppose it comes with age for many people. For me, it has also come with the reality of actually putting down roots in a home, naming that home Rosehaven Cottage, and knowing that it will be my home (in all probability) for the rest of my life. It is a comforting feeling, this nesting thing that has grown inside me. It has brought me in tune with the cycles of the earth and nature; with the changing of the seasons; and with the changing of myself as I change seasons in my own life.
But old friend wanderlust peeks in now and again. As a result, I am flying out in a couple of days to visit my aunt and attend a week-long continuing education experience that I've always wanted to participate in but haven't. It will be a wonderful opportunity to visit with my aunt, get valuable education in preparation for my volunteer teaching that will begin again in September, and I will also have the wonderful privilege of being the photographer at my cousin's wedding reception. But I leave my dear husband (and best friend) at home with the kitties, the garden, and the fish in the pond.
Prior to marrying my soul mate almost 10 years ago, I considered myself a very independent and empowered woman. So why is it now so hard to leave when I wouldn't have batted an eye a decade ago? Why am I obsessing over vacuuming every nook and cranny and dusting places I haven't dusted in forever? I've done my umpteenth load of laundry today. I've scrubbed the windowsills (when do I ever do that?). I've mentally churned all day.
I think it's because when it comes right down to it, I'm finally content in my life. I finally feel a sense of belonging to something, to someone, and to the very soil that I till and sow my seeds within. It is hard to be transplanted, even temporarily, when I've finally grown roots.