Travel is blurry memories, eager eyes, dizzy feet, and foreign streets.
It’s hard to maintain friendships when you’re a human tumbleweed, but it’s even harder to maintain any sort of romantic relationship.
If I don’t get to see all the countries on my list in this lifetime, then so be it. What will be will be.
As an introvert I was actually pretty worried about constantly having to interact with and rely on strangers. I was anxious about the idea of not always being able to be alone when I needed to be.
I am not the first writer to fall in love with the fantasy of the City of Lights, nor will I be the last.
“I wake early these days, and often I lug my equipment to different parks in Queens and spin around in the woods in a blue dress and remember what it was like to be 17 and stringing up paper stars in my basement.”
This illicit relationship with far flung places has left an itch in my soul and my soles that I cannot scratch.
Traveling is like a drug, forming an addiction that controls your entire being.
The need to explore could be a lot more than just a quarter-life crisis. It could literally be part of who you are.
Incurable wanderlust. A severe case of the travel bug. Forever having itchy feet. Sound familiar?