Wanderlust

Ever since the creation of my heart it has held a dream.
Encased in its depths.
Whispering to me so softly, so sweetly.
A fortune encased in a cookie.


I like to imagine that exact moment of creation. In the warm darkness of the womb, what is yet to be living coiled about itself, secretive and small. Where fiber was binding itself together into matter or matter into fiber, twisting and weaving the most important muscle of my being. Right then the wind blew and left a tiny parcel of itself trapped within the valves of my essence. Restlessness pushing ever so slightly against convention and mutating the  thawamp thawamp, thawamp thawamp of existence into a mutinous muscle of desire.

I do not try to own the idea of Wanderlust, it is a pull as old as time itself. I can't pretend that I discovered it in books read by others and found it so in vogue that it compelled me to keep up with the fashion.It has simply always been a part of me.

I view Wanderlust more as an invisible friend. A companion that is always pushing me out the door, goading me when I balk, comforting me when I am lonely and keeping me safe when I cry. It has no language and needs none to consul my heart, because it is my heart, it is me, and I have only two choices, refute it and live with a depth of sadness that never leaves, or embrace it.

It's clear to me now that my entire life has been culminating to this moment, this realization of a dream, this sojourn of sorts where I take my thoughts and my dreams and the talent that lives within this flesh and bone construct for my soul and I marry it all together.

So here we go, together, on this adventure.

I leave in less than 1 year.

Some of you may call me fearless, a complement I warm to but know to be entirely untrue. I think it was put best by Ralph Waldo Emerson "“Do what you are afraid to do”.



Thank you all for your love and support, for your belief in dreams, in dance, in travel, and in me.