A big storm is forecasted to come into the Bay tomorrow. And I can’t wait. There is something so beautiful about the rain. It gives me an excuse to find a comfy corner, some hot tea and a good book. It reminds me of winters in London – cold, rainy but somehow just perfect.
I’ve been home for about three weeks now and I’m antsy to get movin’ again. It’s nice to have some sort of a plan for my life up until the end of the year. When January comes, I’ll be on the road again – trekking ’round Asia for a few months. Sometimes I wonder when I’ll get tired of the nomad life – when I’ll crave a real home, my own house, a neighbourhood to call my own. Maybe just a few more months so that I can get the wanderlust out of my system. I got an email from S.C. about the concept of finding a home. She spoke about wanting to find some form of stability after months of wandering in the South Pacific. I totally understand where she’s coming from. At some point, it’s important to find/create/imagine a place where you can rest your wings.
I have moments when I do wish I had my own apartment, where I’m not living out of boxes and suitcases. And then other times, the thought of having a lease or a mortgage is just the scariest thing on the planet.
When we were traveling through Italy, home became the place we were staying in that night. And that worked for me. I loved it. We did laundry in the sink, went grocery shopping in the corner market and when I really wanted to give myself the illusion of stability, I would unpack all my dresses and hang them in the closet (even if we were only staying for two days). It was a conscious effort to make a place a home. And I think that’s what I’ll have to do for a while. And maybe that’s OK for now. Actually, maybe that would be just perfect for now.
