My soul is restless here. Apparently, my soul is used to traveling the world, ever in search of a new adventure and spiritual enlightenment. It yearns for its own development through the courses of time and space and for a time not yet realized in this life. It yearns for variety. It calls out for the the unbridled excitement of the open road, and each new day’s unknown potentiality that might come with it.
I often dread even a trip to the grocery store, especially if it is in someone else’s car, because I never know when I will be returning. When I go by myself, at least I know I can get in, get what I need, and get out. I hate traveling around town in general, and yet, I would love to travel the world some day. Though this sounds ironic, it really isn’t.
Traveling locally is totally different than being “on the road”. I learned this from simple brief travel excursions as a musician. I did this just enough to make me yearn for more of it, and for more time to spend in the places I so briefly passed through.
Local travel, even on a grander scale, such as visiting a park, or camping nearby, simply doesn’t strike the same adventurous chord within one that broader travel does. It doesn’t with me, at any rate.
My own children think it funny hearing me speak of how I want to travel when they are grown and gone. They find it an odd obsession for a mom they can barely get to leave the house for school functions at times. They don’t understand that I just don’t “belong” here, and I never have.
Sure, I can fit in most anywhere. I am an amiable soul, and usually well liked by those who do get the chance to know me a little. Yet fitting in and belonging are two totally different things. I wonder sometimes if there is anywhere I truly belong, but have never really been anywhere else to find out.
Perhaps I will find I don’t belong anywhere, but that’s okay, I can always keep searching…once I get going, that is. So here I sit, writing words of yearning while the gypsy wind calls my name.