Who amongst us has never been told that we should lay our lofty dreams aside and do the sensible thing? The stable thing; the thing that will guarantee that the bills are paid on time, our credit score remains perfect, and we can finance a new car or put a down payment on a house when we’re ready. And who has never, not once, thought, “Maybe they’re right. Perhaps I should lay aside thoughts of traveling and taking off on grand adventures until I’m in that financially solid space”? Well, I can’t blame you. I have those thoughts too. You know, the fear-based ones that creep in when you’re trying to fall asleep and deliver little messages of self-doubt. They tell me that I’m always going to have to keep my day job, and travel can only happen once or twice a year when I have the time off and the money saved. They beg me to silence my curiosity about the world “out there” and focus on the world right in front of my face, in my own town. They make a good case, too. However, other ideas ultimately win out. When I’m waking up day after day into the same routine, refusing to get out of bed until I remember how good coffee is, I need to look forward to something else. I need to be feeding my wanderlust. Even if I’m not in a place to plan a huge trip, I think towards smaller adventures. Anything but a life replete with predictability. I find it important to reminisce about past experiences that filled me with that certain sense of wonder for life itself.
In “Surprised By Joy,” C.S. calls it “northernness” and says of it, “I was uplifted into huge regions of northern sky. I desired with almost sickening intensity something never to be described (except that it is cold, spacious, severe, pale and remote) and then…found myself at the very same moment already falling out of that desire and wishing I were back in it.” It seems, though, that most of us call it wanderlust. That elusive desire for grander things than where we are, wherever we are, always chasing a feeling we never quite obtain. That certain kind of nostalgia; almost nostalgia for things we haven’t even tasted yet. Some might think that this sounds like an awfully discontented way to live. I find it to be the only way; the way that keeps my spirit feeling alive. This is why I believe in feeding my wanderlust.
I know, I know. It’s not for everyone. Some people may derive contentment in routine and stability. But for those of us that don’t, cultivating wanderlust keeps our hearts pumping through all things both mundane and meaningful. Some part of me craves a sense of stability, honestly. Most days, I think I want to end up married with children living in a house where I can garden, and have ten dogs, and drink my coffee on a huge covered porch with someone I love. On the contrary, I can also admit that I’m not ready for that, nor do I know for certain that it’s where I should end up. For me, the answers to these questions lie in feeding my wanderlust. In allowing myself not only to dream, but to fulfill those dreams. I want to travel to at least a hundred places whose landscapes I have never touched. I want to walk the Way of St. James in Spain, and fall asleep in Finland watching the northern lights from a glass igloo. I can’t fully rest until I’ve finished the Presidential Traverse in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. And while I’m dreaming of such adventure, I desire to run around the woods and swim in rivers, drive away from light pollution and lay on a blanket, letting my breath be taken away by the magnitude of the stars, camp on a bald mountain with 360 degree views of the sunrise. Shorter travels; smaller adventures, yet they still spark that thing in the core of my being that says, “There is so much more.”
I refuse to let coffee be the thing that calls me out of bed morning after morning. I long to chase a thirst never quite satiated, travel across the pond, but also across a nearby mountain, keep reaching for a life that I will look back on and say, “Yes. It was full, indeed.” Life itself is a grand adventure that I want to fill with smaller ones. I struggle to think I will be on my deathbed wishing I had a little more in the bank, and I don’t want to be on it thinking of all the places I’ve never seen and all the experiences I craved and never knew. In what could be perceived as discontent, I am searching for ultimate contentment. I am choosing to live a life feeding my wanderlust.
Sometimes practicality is the biggest thing holding us back. To satiate your inner wanderlust, inspire yourself with the film below:
