The hardest thing about wanderlust is when you know you can't get away. And not because you're afraid. Or you're scared. But because you know there are people counting on you. And they can't count on you if you're halfway around the world and scrounging for pennies for your next meal or for your next hostel stay.
Baby boomers will probably laugh at me with this dilemma I have. To their generation, I have the perfect life. A job that pays perfectly well. A more-or-less stable family life. Enough time for sleep and recreation. A non-existent lovelife at the moment, but I suppose that will come, sometime.
But I guess, that is one of the differences between that generation and ours. Or, maybe, there really is a gene marker for wanderlust, as one article I read a few days ago suggests.
It's been years since I've started to have this feeling. Like somehow I'm supposed to be somewhere else, instead of this life I'm currently living. Don't get me wrong, I know I am blessed. Blessed that I can actually help my family exactly when they needed me to. But on some level, I want to be in a life where I am untethered. Where I don't need to think about bills I need to pay or lessons I need to teach or career goals I need to reach. I want to be where I am only myself.
Selfish, maybe. But one can dream, right?
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