“Wanderlust is not a passion for travel exactly, it’s something more animal and more fickle—more like lust. We don’t lust after very many things in life. We don’t need words like ‘worklust’ or ‘homemakinglust.’ But travel? The essayist Anatole Broyard put it perfectly: ‘Travel is like adultery: one is always tempted to be unfaithful to one’s own country. To have imagination is inevitably to be dissatisfied with where you live … in our wanderlust, we are lovers looking for consummation.’”
–Elisabeth Eaves, “Wanderlust,” World Hum, February 12, 2009
(from Rolf Potts' Vagabonding blog)
I am two days away from yielding to my relentlessly pulsating adulterous temptation to travel. On Thursday, I will head across the ocean once again to my dearly loved Spain. The place where my heart and soul feel most at home. I am hoping that this will be the trip on which I will be able to figure out why that is the case. But even if I never know why Spain reaches, touches, and fills me in my innermost secret places, I will continue to go there as often as I can for as long as I can.
If you pray, please pray for traveling mercies for me and "staying at home" mercies for the rest of my crew. If you don't pray, you should. But until you start to pray, you can think good thoughts for all of us.
I am planning to take my computer with me, and I will try to post a blog or two from there. We shall see how that goes. I will certainly have my camera and my journal with me to record as much of the journey as I can.
I confess: I am an adulterer. I love my country, I really do,
but my heart belongs to another, one that does not belong to me.
Starting in less than 48 hours, for the following ten days,
I will give myself over fully to The One I Love.
With passion. With abandon.
With a (wander)lust that hasn't abated - after 25 years.