When the nomadic heart comes home

Two weeks and two days. That’s how long we were away on our road trip through the South. We did so much that I have yet to write about it all here on the site. But fear not. It is coming.

Two weeks and two days was enough to fill me up with the thrill of adventure and something new. Enough to make me want to leave my life in New York City and move. Anywhere.

On the last two days of our trip I got sick. Sick enough to make a normal person want to go home and crawl in their bed. But not me. I wanted to continue on. Go further.

We traveled 4,000 miles, covered 15 states, and drove for more than 70 hours in a Chevy Impala. We celebrated a birthday somewhere between New Orleans and Asheville. We stayed in enough hotels that at one point we confused the floor we were staying on in one hotel with the floor we stayed at in another.

Our kids were troopers. More often than not they sat in the small, cramped space of that sedan without complaints, developing a routine all their own without our intervention. They became enamored with the map on my iPhone, delighting in the tracking device that indicated how near or far we were from our next destination.

Late at night, as my family relaxed and watched t.v. I would write, loosing myself in thought, trying to find the words to describe all the sounds, smells, and flavors of our latest discovery. No one complained. No one fought.

We were living out the carefree, spontaneous scribbles written one late night on a piece of paper.

Upon our return home I found it hard to smile at the thought. It was hard for my nomadic heart to feel content with being home again. I was disappointed at the notion of coming back. So much left to see. So much left undone. So many stories still unheard.

But as I write this now my heart is still. Comfortable in the familiar surroundings of our home. Walking barefoot on the wooden floor of our small NYC apartment my soul is once again grounded to the place I love.

I write this while sitting next to a calendar filled with even more trips to come. The conversation of our next major excursion has already begun, and the return to places we absolutely love is in the works.

What I love the most about traveling and getting away from the one place that is so familiar to me is that I gain perspective of what is important in life. I am able to identify the things that really matter in my life and the things that I can do without. I am able to laugh at the things that would normally make me stress out or doubt myself, and I am able to disconnect from the noise of others.

Each trip changes me a little and I like that. I think it makes me a better person, a better wife, a better mother because I see my children and the man that I love in a way that the day-to-day of our lives doesn’t allow me to appreciate.

We’re an awesome team, my little crazy family and I, a band of nomads who happily take on whatever path is laid before us. So we are enjoying being back but making plans for our next trip. Because when the nomadic heart comes home it is content only when the notion of the next adventure can be seen in the horizon.

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Tags: travel
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