The Wonder that is Wanderlust

Listen. Be still.
Do you feel it?
Something stirs within you. A need, a want, a sense of desiring something. Or someplace.
Wanderlust.

Of course, not all call it that, although I think it's one of the most beautiful terms I've ever heard. But there are others. In Romania, we call it dor de ducă, which is a bit hard to translate. A longing to be gone, only ten times more poetic. In Germany, it's apparently called sehnsucht. The funny thing is when I Googled the word, it said it's something hard to describe, but it's akin to the Romanian word 'dor'.
And I found this to be terribly poetic, since I was writing an article on travel that was inspired by that very word in Romanian. I like this sort of thing, because in a way, it confirms my belief that we're all one big family, regardless of place, of country or language. We're all basically people.

= dor de ducă

That, and the fact that I haven't been home in the past two weeks. And I love it. Last night, coming home, as I walked down the street dragging my suitcase, I felt at peace. I already felt home, but it had nothing to do with the apartment I was coming back to. I was at home with myself, I was okay with myself. And that would mean I would be alright anywhere.
And it felt so right to be on the road, to be constantly coming and going. It's hectic, but also exhilarating. The same thing occurred to me while talking to an actor I met while traveling.
I haven't been home in three weeks, he told us, at some point. And I just loved the fact that there was the obvious longing for home in his eyes, but there was also a smile in them, because it was okay. It was a smile that said isn't this great?

And it is.

I realized I had the travel bug three years ago, when I first went to London. I felt it in my heart, that wonderful feeling of release. Being there allowed me to feel alive and opened up a part of myself I didn't know existed. The searching, wandering part of me that really wants to go to the airport and hop on the first flight out. The part that is happier looking out the window and seeing the road zooming past, rather than the quiet streets. I'm happy when I'm on the go, when I'm packing my bags. And every trip is exciting in its own way. And it always has to do with what you find at the end of the road, whether it's a beautiful city, a rock concert or inner peace. There's always something waiting for you, and part of the excitement is not knowing what that something is.

Life's a journey, not a destination, why it's important to travel

Not all people have wanderlust. Some are happy to just stay at home and find the mere idea of being on the road nauseating. And that's fine too. People are different, and that's what makes them wonderful.
Personally, I can't imagine what that is like, to never go anywhere. It seems awful to me, not through some sort of judgment, simply because I don't work that way. I need to travel. And I think it's important to travel, to see as much of the world as you can. Cities both large and small. Mountains, streams, hideaways and great tourist attractions. I think it's important to take everything in.
Why? Because it helps you grow. It teaches you more – about yourself and about the world – than you can ever learn by reading.
For me, travel is important because it builds character. You are the sum of your experiences, some say. And there are many beautiful experiences you can have only if you travel. It's important because you meet hundreds of new people, you interact with an ever-changing scenery. And when it's done, you can say I was there. I did that too.

You never come home the same after a trip. Regardless if it's a day trip or you're gone six months. What happened on that trip, even if it was some banal sightseeing or walking around, has changed you forever. You are now the you that has done those things, the you that has seen those sights and walked those streets. A new you. You have learned so many new things, have encountered different cultures, acquired skills, made memories.

See, I think first of all, we don't live anywhere. Here, in this world. I believe there's a little house in our head. A red brick house, I think. And first and foremost, we live there. And I think that with every place I go, I add another brick to that house.
Yes, it is – at the moment – a house with no roof. It is still being built. A work in process. Don't worry, it never rains. And it'd be funny if you were born with your house already built, because it stands on memories, on loves, on places, on fears, on regrets, on friendships, on chances and on dreams.

You build it as you go.

Take it with you when you go.

I try to keep that as a general rule of travel, and I try to keep and take a little bit of the places I've been with me. And while the greatest part of that are the memories you take, I also like to gather little keepsakes. Some people collect fridge magnets. Or postcards. I don't like to take the same thing from every place, because the places themselves are different. So, it seems only normal to me that the things I take should be different too.

The pen is from The Globe, in London. It reads ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE.
The statue is from the Da Vinci Museum in Florence, Italy.
The stone is from the beach in Brighton, UK.
The dog tag is from a small rock shop in Rouen, France.
The coffee cup is from Buzău, Romania (cappuccino was to-die-for).
And there are others. I've got a blouse bought in a small town near Ravenna, another in a small town in Albania. I've got on my walls posters I bought in Paris. I've got little things from everywhere I've been and they're among my most treasured possessions. So are the memories I made there.

So, what are your feelings about wanderlust? Do you feel it too? If you do, here's a wonderful article I came upon by chance and enjoyed terribly.