Writing & wanderlust
Is it just me or do you ever feel stale doing the same work at the same chair in the same town day after day?
Anytime life gets too routine or humdrum, I find myself searching for some shiny, new, sparkly thing.
Or, I plan a road trip.
My husband and I often sneak away for no other reason than to divert our attention from the ordinary. We pick a neighboring city and explore for a couple days. We’ve discovered that the best way to be wooed by a place is to stroll its streets. Or better yet, pedal our bicycles along its avenues and alleyways.
There’s a thrill in stealing away, scouting out an unfamiliar city and blending into the backdrop as anonymous tourists.
After we pore over guidebooks, we interrogate locals until they divulge the must-see eateries, highlights, and hot spots. Our only plan is to be plan-less, with little more than a pinky-promise of no stress, no work and no restaurant chains.
Recently, we packed a bag, strapped the bikes to the truck and rolled into Charleston, S.C., where we tooled around town, surveyed sights, imbibed local micro-brews and munched on “low country” cuisine.
I loved all of it. I always do.
Our trips are easy escapes from our everyday lives, a chance to leave the busyness of our real worlds on the shore. We plunge face first and submerge ourselves in a fresh world that only first-time tourists see.
But, as every diver knows, eventually, you have to come up for air.
As we made our way back home from Charleston, I had an epiphany: As much as I love our two-day jaunts, when they end and we surface to take a breath, I gulp for air. In fact, I never feel as relieved as I do the moment I walk through our front door, back into the real world — our world.
Dorothy was no dummy: “There’s no place like home.”
And like the ruby-slipper-clad ingenue, sometimes I need to escape the ordinary, day-to-day rituals of my life to notice the ripe, juicy fruits within my reach.
Maybe the next time I feel antsy, I should pause to notice and name the beauty right outside my front door?
Or maybe flirting with my wanderlust as an innocent detour is ok, too?