Taking the leap to move to a "new" country, a new city, a new job and a new home takes hutzpah.
I've done it several times and am getting ready to do it again.
This could be considered admirable by some. Okay... but my fatal flaw could be that I continually crave novelty and unfamiliar things; in that light, picking up and leaving whenever I feel like it isn't so commendable. In other words, I haven't been forced to go anywhere. I chose this risky, reckless type of life.
Many of us who are constantly yearning to see and experience new places have the wandering gene and can't help but keep seeking. Our longing for new stimuli makes us the way we are, and we live with our choices. Though challenging, it can also be a relief leaving the unnecessaries behind, starting over again with fresh ideas on how to live our newest existence.
But leaving people and places behind while striking out for adventure so often isn't all it's cracked up to be. We no longer have a "home." We often end up alone - at least initially - because of our independence and not knowing anyone in a new place. As a result, we miss the people in our lives: neighbors, friends, and family. We also long for the things we enjoyed (like certain foods) in the last location.
Fortunately, we can hold people in our hearts, especially those of like minds who inspire us to go for what we want. We can communicate regularly using various means, including video chat, telephone calls, messages, social media, and the like. It's not the same as being with our loved ones; living a nomadic lifestyle is a sacrifice. Not all of us make the conscious decision to move often: many in the military must leave their favorite new place every 2 to 6 years. Why do we do it?
With change comes solitude... and growth.
Living anew causes us to learn and grow, becoming better versions of ourselves while we build upon what we know. We take our experiences with us everywhere we travel. Meanwhile, we encounter customs, cultures and communities we never knew existed. We're getting an education; feeding our heads.
As an avid learner, growth creates a constant stream of commentary inside my mind. I'd share out loud to whoever is in the room, if there were someone there (ha!). Therefore, with so much to say while simultaneously easing unpleasant moments of solitude, I write.
Ideas usually come flooding in as the day begins: I'm out walking or jogging, digging my tennies into the sand (or whatever substrate I find myself upon at the moment). Thoughts my strike me in the shower.
One problem: it's difficult expressing in so many words what may seem like meaningless experiences to others. Yes, we keep in touch by posting photos and making comments to long lost friends. We initiate phone calls to family members across the ocean. We use messages, texts - and any other means possible - to recite snippets of the the playbacks in our heads.
But there's only so much blathering on you can do. My choice is to write... a lot.
I'd like to think - being a teacher by nature - that by reading these posts, others can learn of my adventures Perhaps they'll be entertained and enlightened. Or so I'd like to think.
My oldest sister has a house, garden, mortgage and a husband... two cats, a dog, grandchildren nearby, and a job she has held for over 35 years. Throughout my years of constant change, she tells me she travels vicariously through me. (For this and other reasons, she's the first to receive postcards from any new place I visit.)
But postcards are usually too small to hold all I have to say, so here I am again.
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