For the past year, in the smallest corner of my heart, a flame has been flickering quietly. It’s the flame of curiosity and adventure and wonder – and everyday it burns a little brighter. One year later, it has erupted into a full-blown fire. There is a fire in my heart and it wants to see the world.
I think the desire to travel is a universal longing. Perhaps even more so for people in their 20s – especially for those of us who follow the conventional go to university – graduate – get a job path. I think this desire stems not just from a longing to explore, but from an insatiable hunger for freedom, knowledge and the idea that the world is so much bigger and grander than our front yard.
But I’ve been wrestling with something: Do I risk being home sick or sick of home?
The longest I’ve ever been away from home on my own has been a week. (This will soon change to a month when I go to Australia and New Zealand next week!) Some days I get sudden urges to pack up my suitcase, jump on a plane and live abroad for six months…but another part of me starts to worry about all the memories I won’t be part of at home. I start thinking about the family parties I won’t be part of, the family movie nights, the home-cooked meals, the little every day things that make family life so special…
I love my home and my family more than anything. Everybody always tells me that I’ll be making memories of my own and that all the things I cherish will be waiting for me when I return. On the other hand, what if I go to Europe and suddenly home is not good enough for me anymore? That scares me too.
In short, it comes down to whether I venture out into the world for an adventure and miss home until my heart hurts or whether I stay at home and watch home slowly turn into my prison. I think I know what I need to do; I just have to be brave enough to do it.