I recently noticed something about myself. Every year, around September/October, I start to get really really restless. Like cabin fever, ants-in-my-pants, restless. I make grandiose declarations of traveling around the world in the next couple of months.
If any of you know me in person, you’ll know this is a bit unrealistic, since I can barely be convinced to leave my apartment most days.
I’m not a shut-in. But I really enjoy my own space. My bed, my couch, my dishes, my shower. They’re all such lovely things, and they’re all mine.
Still, every year, almost to the day, I want to break out of my little world and live the crazy romantic, digital nomad lifestyle.
Currently, with where I’m at in life, I am fully capable and even encouraged to do this. My bosses think it’s awesome, my family thinks it’s awesome, my partner thinks it’s awesome. It is awesome. But here’s how it works in my head.
First, I plan this three month long over-seas trip in my head. “I’m going to go spend a month in Bali, and then a month in Italy, and I’m totally gonna be Liz Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love.” But then as I let a little time pass, I realize I couldn’t leave my dog for that long. (Three months is like a lifetime, and my separation anxiety from her it way too real for that.)
So with that out the window, I start to plan my month long AirBnB stay somewhere exotic in the U.S. New Orleans? Denver? Portland? Memphis? You name it, I’ve said it. And these trips seem a little more likely… until… “A month in someone else’s bed?”
Here’s the deal. I don’t travel much. The trips I’ve taken in the past, if longer than a week, I get major homesickness. All I want is my bed, my dog, and my favorite mug. I’m a homebody! I can’t help it.
In the past few months, I’ve told quite a few people that I want to travel around and live out of a suitcase. But the truth is, that’s just not who I am. I want my belongings and I want my homely comforts.
So while I’ve made all these declarations, I’m going to have to renege on them. I don’t want to spend more than a week or two from my house. And traveling in the middle of winter actually sounds awful. This doesn’t mean that I’m never going to travel, or never live abroad. It just means that I need to take baby steps out of my comfort zone. Otherwise I’m bound to scare myself into never leaving the comfort of my fluffy down comforter.