My muse just suggested that my home is in my imagination. And it is something I’ve thought about recently, just what is home to me?
Sure, I’ve got my flat in the UK. But all of my family are back ‘home’ in NZ. And while I don’t have anything permanent there, I do visit regularly enough to feel like I’ve got a foot in both camps.
Normally though, I love being where ever I am. If I’m on holiday in NZ, I love it there. When I’m at home in Cheltenham I (normally) love it as well.
Problem is, I’m also attracted to other places. I loved Da Nang and could see myself spending some time there. I’ve not yet been to Portland, but for some reason feel drawn to the city for reasons I don’t fully understand. I miss Wellington and Auckland and pine for both while I’m away. I’ve also loved Melbourne for years and fancy moving there ‘someday’.
But something I’ve been unable to cure is my desire to wander. There’s something about exploring that I just can’t seem to put down. But it’s a conflicting desire. I miss my family and friends when I’m apart from them. I’ve got the most adorable nieces and would love to seem them more often. But I want to watch my Godson grow up as well and he’s on the opposite side of the planet from my nieces. So everything is a tradeoff.
It’s what makes me agree with the concept of The Traveller’s Curse and a realisation that I suffer from the same affliction. I like the idea of a home and I daydream about all the possibilities, but the lure of distant lands, cultures and new people to meet are all too enticing.
But one day…