"The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing —
to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from —
my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing,
all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back."


~C.S. Lewis




Thursday, October 6, 2011

Wanderlust

I’m sitting in my room, alone. My window is open and I hear the crickets and the wind and the leaves of the trees talking to each other. The night is so incredibly beautiful. It’s calling… calling so hard I could cry—or dance—or laugh—or just lean out the window and feel the breeze in my face and my hair and my soul.

It is on nights like these I wonder what would happen if I just got in my car and drove—and drove—and drove. To see the world and to meet so many wonderful people, to seek out new experiences and new places. To move and run and drive and travel, going nowhere and leaving nowhere, and yet being everywhere and doing everything.

It makes me want to dance and sing. It makes me want to go out on the island and walk through the waves and draw pictures in the sand. It makes me want to balance on top of an old moss-covered wall and weave a flower crown out of the fading late-summer flowers and roll down a hill in the autumn-bright leaves. It makes me want to lie in a meadow and count the shooting stars for hours and then fall asleep in the dry, warm grass. It makes me want to take a friend by the hand and smile and laugh and dance and drag them with me on this great, wild adventure.


Can you feel it? Can you feel your heart racing? Can you feel the excitement welling up in you like a wild song aching to be free? Can you feel your restlessness and your hopes and your dreams?


I know you can.

So come with me.