Wanderer
Posted by Megan Roney on Sunday, June 21, 2009
I felt it the night before I left. That feeling I get every time I leave home for an extended period of time, that homesick longing that always creeps up on me. Senses are intensified and it suddenly becomes very, very clear how incredibly good I have it in life.
I tend to pause when entering the kitchen, crowded with family chatting and children playing and flash a dreamy smile, like I'm reenacting a scene from "It's a Wonderful Life."
The annoying squeaks from the dining room floor sound more like a symphony to my nostalgic ears as I creep to the stairs at the end of the night. And that smell of paint mixed with dust and the lingering sent of dinner is so much more prevalent as I turn out the lights the night before a long journey.
And every time I wheel my suitcase out the door, there is always a part of me that wonders what the hell I'm doing. Why I'm walking out of a place so filled with love and warmth and comfort. It makes it almost difficult to follow ones dreams.
And yet, I pity the person who doesn't hesitate at the end of the driveway. For his as his heart constantly wanders, searching for home as he travels, I always know my heart is home, while I am free to wander.
I tend to pause when entering the kitchen, crowded with family chatting and children playing and flash a dreamy smile, like I'm reenacting a scene from "It's a Wonderful Life."
The annoying squeaks from the dining room floor sound more like a symphony to my nostalgic ears as I creep to the stairs at the end of the night. And that smell of paint mixed with dust and the lingering sent of dinner is so much more prevalent as I turn out the lights the night before a long journey.
And every time I wheel my suitcase out the door, there is always a part of me that wonders what the hell I'm doing. Why I'm walking out of a place so filled with love and warmth and comfort. It makes it almost difficult to follow ones dreams.
And yet, I pity the person who doesn't hesitate at the end of the driveway. For his as his heart constantly wanders, searching for home as he travels, I always know my heart is home, while I am free to wander.
After a while of traveling in foreign countries, you begin to realize that it's not just your luggage that can get lost. When you don't speak the language, you loose your ability to speak. If you can't decipher the written word, you loose your ability to read. And if you can't read the signs to know where you're going, you yourself can get lost. It can be a bit overwhelming, and at times humiliating, but I'm sure even Odysseus experienced frustration on his adventurous travels. This blog is my account of my travels. Hopefully, my blunders will assure others that they are not the only ones lost in translation.
