Wanderlust

I know I attempted to post about this before, but somehow the use of Blogger between the computer and my phone ended up with the post disappearing.

I just picked up a book called Wanderlove, one of the staff picks from the YA section at the library. It appealed to me. It's about a girl who wants to change herself in the aftermath of a bad breakup. She wants to get back into art. Dress bohemian. Travel. Be independent. But in all this, she's trying to push against her own fear and reluctance and emotions weighing down on her.

I feel like I understand. Thing is, I didn't even have an identity when I got back to the States. Nobody here knew me and everyone I grew up lived elsewhere. It's a weird place, because on one hand, you aren't trapped being who you were growing up. We get so caught up in patterns I think we keep repeating them as long as everyone else expects us to. And as long as we are around those we grew up with, people can't see you changing things for the better, it's just a lapse. And then you come to expect the same thing of yourself.

For me, I could no longer rely on my friends and who I hung out with to be my identity. Not like it was everything I was, but I never had to think about it in high school. I was just one of the group, the emotional sensitive one, who preferred to hang out with boys and liked capture the flag more than everyone else. Oh sure, there were more differences, but that sums up about the only things that really separated me from the rest.

And then all that was gone, along with all the problems that went with it. So who was I? What could I become with the choices and opportunities offered me in America? What parts of myself could change and adapt and what would remain the same at the core? What did I WANT to be?

In Wanderlove, she approached it differently. Don't lie about who you are. You want to be something different, change yourself, not just what you say about yourself. She gets embarrassingly caught in the lies in the next chapter, so it's a good policy I think.

But she signs up for a tour of Central America and then meets some backpackers who are touring in a completely different fashion and ends up going with them. It's dirty and carefree and exciting and scary. And it makes me ache with wanderlust.

I get wanderlust frequently. I love Ames, my only home here in this country, but I have never been stuck in one place for so long in my life. I've been here longer than I lived in South Korea. It's getting close to rivaling my formative years in Turkey. And even in those places, I don't think I was ever in the city longer than two years without flying back to America. I haven't flown in maybe four or five years now. It's been the longest I've been grounded in my entire life.

About every changing of the season ('cept winter), I hit a point of really really wanting to just take off and go somewhere. The book and cool spring day makes me want to hike in a jungle or view Ireland or camp in a forest (with lots of extra socks) and grill food and find firewood. Summer makes me want to visit somewhere with sparkling sand and turquoise water and green leaves everywhere. Fall makes me just want to pack up my bags and travel Europe and see buildings, markets, museums. And actually, I suppose winter makes me want to go somewhere as well, if only to be warm. If I can make myself leave the house for it. I tried to get David to take me to Texas with him on the company plane, but it didn't work.

I've been trying to find my own adventure where I live. I take bike paths without knowing where they go. I had a small lake nearby in West Des Moines and would swim there. Here I have an aquatic center. Ames tends to have a lot to offer in the summer. They like to have farmer's markets and bands come and play and art fairs along their little main street. And I'm biking across Iowa for RAGBRAI. There will be things to do.

I just don't know if it will be enough to satisfy the craving I feel for somewhere else.