I've been having a hard time coming back to reality since my trip. My morning commute takes me past the local airport, and every morning last week, I wanted to just turn right and head to valet parking. I thought I'd be over it by this week, but alas, it persists. I could hop on a flight to New York or Chicago then who knows where I'd end up. Maybe here again because it was so beautiful...
Or maybe I'd flit off to see some waterfalls in New Zealand. Or Bali. Going on vacation always reminds me just how incredible it feels to escape. Evade the routine. To wander around somewhere unfamiliar and experience things for the first time, making invaluable deposits into the memory bank.
I think that's what I enjoy most about traveling—not the relaxation or the seeing of sights—but the sense of limitless possibility. Every day you wake up away from home is an adventure (even if you're just a few hours or a state away!). You eat at new restaurants, you walk down new streets, you see a different skyline when you watch the sun set.
It's nice having someone else in my life who understands this. Nice...and dangerous. Because together we could run away (yeah, I know my feet look like monkey hands and you're thinking, "how can she run on those things?"). We could go travel the world. And as much as that stokes the coals of wanderlust smoldering inside me, it also scares me a little. That's the funny thing about my sense of adventure—it's coupled with a tether to my hometown. I tried to move away from the area once (all the way to Orange County! Gasp!). I only lasted 8 months. But if I had a partner...would I ever come back?
I ate lunch today with a girl who saved up with her husband and took ten months off work to travel. She went to 28 countries. I don't know how you could do that and not come back a better person. Someone who has experienced the happy sense of being a little lost, seen things you maybe never dreamed of seeing, tried something new every day. Actually, I don't know how you could come back from that at all.