Of course: a magical combination of feeling disgruntled about work and reading a book about long-distance adventure has once more kindled the ever-flickering stasia wanderlust. (As if it’s not enough to have just gotten back from Puerto Rico…)
Hm. I’ve now tried a whole bunch of ways to explain myself up there, but it ultimately comes down to a few things that I don’t yet know how to form into coherent words. There’s the feeling that if I’m already making so little money at work, why not just admit that I basically might as well not be working, super minimize my expenses, and get the hell out of dodge? There’s the conflicting but related theory that maybe I should just get some super high-paying shit job for a year, save up, and then get the hell out of dodge. There’s the whole complicated mess of loving my established life (and slave-wage job:) in Portland and always wanting to come back here, yet when I’m here always in the back of my mind champing to get out. (Although that may not actually be true, it may just be a facet of my current disgruntledness that I think I always want to get out.) And then there’s the sense that even with all the bike travel I was able to do this last year, I’m just beginning to scratch at an itch that is so much more all-encompassing than even a month-long trip south and a smattering of other travels will sate. The fear that I’m the only one holding myself back from what I really want to or can do.
Like I told James, it’s dangerous for me to read books or blogs or articles about long-distance, long-term travel, especially when I’m even remotely dissatisfied with anything else about life. It gives me a glimpse of other possibilities, of a life that could be. The grass is always greener.
Tomorrow, when I’m feeling back to my normal spunky indomitable self and have stopped letting work piss me off, perhaps a simple long ride will suffice.
Oh, and that title is a quote from Walt Whitman. Bonus points if you knew that already:)