“I'm restless. Things are calling me away.
My hair is being pulled by the stars again.”
- Anais Nin
My husband and I are notoriously bad travelers.
I like to pretend this isn’t true and that we just have a few kinks to work out on our way to becoming those incredibly stylish and well-traveled people you see boarding a transatlantic flight like it’s nothing. You’ll be able to recognize us by our matching Ray Bans and teeny Luis Vuitton luggage that couldn’t possibly fit a tube of toothpaste, much less enough clothes to wear for a week.
Instead we’re the ones frantically dumping hundreds of dollars’ worth of California wine and beer into a trash can right outside SFO security because we're too late to check our bags, all while quietly crying and not so quietly cursing the day we were born.
Yet despite our rocky relationship with the open road, I still find that it calls when I least expect it. I’ll be riding the subway in the middle of rush hour and suddenly I find myself wishing I was navigating foreign streets with a backpack and a map or perched in a hideaway in the woods with nothing but a cup of tea and a set of paints. And the thought fills me with this nostalgic longing for something that hasn’t happened yet, as if the wires between what was and what could be have somehow crossed.
(…The stars, they pull…)
And so to try and repair our relationship with that cheeky wench, Wanderlust, the hubs and I make new plans and search for ways to escape our comfortable 600 square foot world. We make lists of places to see and tear pictures of far off destinations from glossy magazines. We save our pennies and vow to try again, if only to prove that good travelers are made, not born, and practice really does make perfect.
Here’s to another year of adventures and misadventures on the open road. On the agenda in 2015 ...