Coming home.

I can't tell you how many times I've tried to write this specific blog post.

I've deleted and re-written, let the subject simmer for days on end, but still, the words aren't coming out of my fingertips the way that I have wanted them to. And I guess that's okay for me right now, I'm finally having some peace about not being able to write these words. Because, how really, can you describe the feeling of freedom? I miss it.

It's not that I feel stuck, although the feeling does creep up on me at times and swallows me whole. But it's missing the feeling of having a whole new place in front of you; a big plate of options and locations, and no one way is the correct one to take. It was the feeling I got when I first stepped off the plane in Asia, all wires of my brain directed to the mission of surviving, enjoying, exploring, experiencing. This feeling of freedom is unlike any experience than I can specifically name, or anything tangible that I can show you.

This idea of "going" has been spinning in my head for a long while. I'm not sure at what point in my life that I decided that traveling was the easiest way for me to feel alive. The thought of being un-caged and belonging to no one but the wind, drifting to everywhere and anywhere I'd like, and the encompassing feelings of having to adapt; all of that is so deeply appealing to me.

Sometimes I wonder why I want to go so much. Maybe it's because perpetually moving forward means never settling down. Maybe it stems deeply from the fact that the first months of my life, my hips were dislocated and the feeling of being unable to go has ingrained it in my memory that I need to move as much as I can. Maybe it's because the thought of the unknown is simultaneously paralyzing and thrilling. And maybe, it's just the sole fact that going is exciting.

I'm not ready to go again, or at least not right this minute. My desire to be a vagabond is being settled by the peace of watching coffee being poured into deep cup, the patience of cooking my own food, and the slow onset of fall and winter, changing the hue of the light pouring into our rooms to a light blue.

I was told awhile ago by a wise person, that sometimes you need to leave somewhere, just so you can come back. Maybe I don't need to go again just yet, despite missing the freedom of going. Maybe being in one spot will yield the same amount of happiness.