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Wanderlust Diaries #1 - Home
🕑 Added 2024-02-16 14:36:35 +0000 UTCHi lovely,
My name is Lune and welcome to my new brain child that will be this string of posts. These Wanderlust Diary entries will be filled with introspection, angst, and oftentimes no rhyme or reason, other than the fact that they’re my musings from my travels, so consider yourself thoroughly warned.
As I’m writing this, it’s been three weeks since I’ve last written anything, creative or otherwise, and I get quite ornery when I don’t have an outlet to throw my random thoughts on, so please bear with me as I share where my head is at at the moment.
A little background as to where I’ve been: I’ve been visiting my extended family for the last three weeks for Lunar New Year. Some, I haven’t seen in seven years, Others, over a decade, so it’s been amazing to catch up with them and to hear their stories, especially as an adult. Shortly before this trip, I flew over to LA with some of my college friends as a graduation gift to myself, so needless to say, I haven’t had a breather in a while.
Whilst making these plans, I was elated, dare I say effervescent of the fact that I had (and still have) the opportunity to put everything: my work, my life, my future, on hold in order to travel and see the world. Don’t get me wrong, I’m immensely grateful for this privilege and do intend on taking advantage of it to the fullest extent. However, these last few weeks have made me undoubtedly homesick, something I never thought I would feel.
Home (n): the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.
I can’t say I never had a home, that would be disingenuous, melodramatic, and ungrateful, but I never felt like I was at home anywhere when I was growing up, physically and emotionally. I’m not going to get into the details (that’s saved for therapy), but I’m sure you can surmise why that would be the case.
Back then, my biggest dream was to pack up everything I owned and simply leave. I didn’t care where to, I didn’t know how, I just wanted to leave. I hated the world, hated my existing in it, hated how stuck and powerless I was. I hated that I was at the mercy of others, so I found my escape in daydreams, the internet, and putting pen to paper. I didn’t want a home then. I didn’t think I needed one.
Now, one of my goals is to be able to travel whenever and wherever I want at the drop of a hat, not because I want to escape from something, but because I want to run to something. To the next city, to the next adventure, to the next friend, lover, or pair of arms who will embrace me for all I am.
Strangely enough, when my desperation morphed into desire, my feelings surrounding needing a home didn’t change right away. After all, we live in the digital age, right? My family and loved ones are at my fingertips, so long as my phone was charged. However, as I cram myself into a tiny seat, shrouded in the airplane cabin’s artificial darkness, catching a glimpse of one of the only times I’ll ever see the night sky in its purest, untouched, unpolluted state, I can’t help but be enraptured by the beauty of it all, in embracing the new, but appreciating the familiar.
Nothing makes you want to leave home faster than that next flight, that next adventure, but nothing makes you yearn for home more than being in a new place, hundreds of thousands of miles away from everything and everyone you know. A strange, yet comforting dichotomy, a far cry from the sentiments I held when I was just a few years younger.
Home is what we make of it. It’s what we find comforting and familiar, but not necessarily traditional. When I think of home, I think of my friends, my loved ones, my work, and you all. I think of the years of tears, the paralyzing fear, and the few calms in the storm where I somehow was able to remind myself that it’s all going to be okay. I think of where I was at when that maelstrom of angst, emotion, and hardship were all that I knew, and I think of where I’m going, after the light at the end of the tunnel, acknowledging and making peace with that comforting yet uncomfortable feeling of thinking and knowing that it will all truly be okay. I can carry all of that with me wherever I go, as long as I drop by for a few extended visits every now and again.
Thank you for reading.
With love,
Lune 💜
Comments
PhilosophyCat
The feeling of never being at home is such an unsettling one. For me growing up, the lake house was my true home. I was unbound and free for as long as I was there. I was truly happy with my grandparents and our lake family. And even though I am older now that feeling still hasn’t changed even after losing my grandfather who was like a dad to me. I find that driving aimlessly for hours on end while listening to music has been a great way for me to organize my thoughts. But even then I do it to feel free and unbound from life’s daily struggles with mental health and interpersonal and work issues that are ever so present in a glaring way. I can understand using writing and other creative outlets to get the mess of words and feelings out in the open. I had a thing that I called midnight poetry where I would write something when I was really loopy from being tired/medications and I didn’t have all my mental blocks to restrain myself. Between moving to another state for a year and then moving back to my home state, I found myself feeling even more displaced by it. But in my relationship I had felt at home. I think that being able to go out and adventure and explore the world and what it has to offer is the best therapy for me at least. But in the end home is what we make of where we are and where we lay our heads and lay our emotions out. I empathize with your feeling of what is home Lune.
Hebi T
Hi Lune Be happy and makes what you want ! It's the best thing to do 🙂 Stay safe and thanks for what you do here ☺️
Advanceco
See I'm reading it Lune
