Falling Perfectly Into Place

Falling Perfectly Into Place
(The Reason I Travel)

         I will never tire of the adventure, of never knowing what might happen next. I'll never tire of sitting in airports, and waiting for trains. I'll never tire of the sun, and feeling it beat down on me from anywhere I can get myself to; and of watching it set from mountains, and harbours. I will never be bored with living from my backpack, and having just enough in my pocket to get me to the next city, or country, or continent. I'll always love wandering into a hostel, or a house and asking if I can stay. I take with me the strength to sit down next to a stranger and talk to them. I'm not scared to ask questions, I live through my experiences and I'm curious. I'll never be tired of my curiousity. I'll never tire of the wind, and spinning in circles just because I can. I will never get enough of this world, I don't think my thirst for people, and experience, and culture will ever be quenched.

         The wind weathers my hair, and the sun kisses my skin, and when I feel just like sleeping, I'll find somewhere to sleep. I wish I could travel all the time. Sometimes, though, I miss home. Although I barely find myself at my childhood home, my parents' house, I love the feeling of that comfortable bed. When I'm sitting in a stranger-turned-friend's apartment in Poland, I miss my own apartment. And only sometimes do I miss it enough to buy a plane ticket home.

         But when I'm sitting in my friend's grandma's house on a beautiful Greek island, I don't miss anything about home except the people. I don't miss my job, and I don't miss my parents. In fact, I'm glad to be rid of them both when I'm away. I don't miss paying bills, and I don't miss having a schedule. I especially don't miss the fact that my beautiful lover is not there. That he will never be.

         Sometimes, I miss the luxury of my life. I was lucky growing up, I know that now. The places I've been have shown me how unbelievably fortunate I was. And am. I miss having a clock that works, and having comforting things of familiarity. I miss having a bathroom all my own, that is clean and with water that is safe.

         But I don't miss it enough to return very often. I love the rocking motion of a boat on the Mediterranean, and the fresh lobster on a catamaran in the Caribbean. I love the ocean, and diving too much to go home. I love the tropical air, and the comfort of beaches. I love laying in bed all day in a cheap hotel that I can see the ocean from. I love meeting strangers, and becoming travelling companions with a few. I love the noise and bustle of cities I'd never heard of, and never imagined I'd see.

         I love the feeling of standing on mountains, and accidentally winding up in Nepal. And of sitting in police stations when sometimes I get caught doing things I shouldn't. I love the feeling of spending everything I have and more to ship a beautiful door back to Canada that will someday be my dining room table. I love spending balmy nights listening to stories and song from people I'll never see again. I love shivering and huddling in sleeping bags and not being quite prepared for the weather. I love the weather, and how wonderfully different it is everywhere. I love the sun, and the moon, and the rain and the wind. I love the water, dipping my feet in a rocky glen, or a shallow lagoon, or jumping into the ocean with my clothes on. Or with them off.

         I love all these things too much to ever want to go home. But although I love the world with all my heart, it's only because the world took away the man I loved first. It's my psyche, a demon, baggage, whatever you like to call it. But because he's no longer here, I don't want to be at home and realize how lonely I am without him.