Because I just don't.
Ever since then I've shut my mouth when people talk about their travel experiences, feeling like I have nothing to add. But as I step into my truth more and more each day, here it is:
I don't really have a sense of wanderlust.
Please don't feel sorry for me, or take pity on me. I don't feel like my death would be in vain if I didn't see the whole world or as much of it as I could. I don't care about hiking to Macchu Picchu (your pictures looks awesome, though), seeing the pyramids, or walking in Tokyo. It's just not my jam. For me my peace and finding myself comes in the mountains, among the pine trees, away from the noise and clamor of people and daily life. Quiet. Peace. Serenity. And I can do that here in less than an hour's time. I've visited lots of great places here in the good ol' USA.
Growing up I never went more than a few miles from home, save traveling to visit out of state family in the summertime. In high school, going to the other side of Sacramento seemed like a huge ordeal. Ordeal became the word associated with being away from home. Home grounds me. Home feels safe. Moving from Sacramento to Folsom (15 miles) in my mid-20s was a HUGE deal at the time. And then moving from Folsom to Auburn at 30 blew me away. I was an hour away from where my tether was anchored! And yes, I do realize how silly it seems now. These days driving across town and all over the Sacramento region doesn't seem like a big deal.
As a kid I spent a fair amount of time in Montana, compared to anywhere else (Florida too, maybe). My Dad is from there and many summers we spent a week or more at my grandparent's lake house or hiking in Glacier National Park. As a kid, I was awed by it, sure, and even then I appreciated it. My appreciation as an adult has only grown.
This weekend I flew to Montana to visit friends, same city where my Dad is from. The flight(s) including getting to the airport/layovers took less time than driving to Los Angeles from northern California. Within a few hours I was a thousand miles away. Flying into the Flathead valley, I felt a sense of peace as everything melted away. Sitting on my couch writing this, I feel like I left part of myself there.
I let go. I felt myself let go for the first time in years. I slowed down. I stopped resisting. I have been telling my therapist for the last few months that I am terrified that if I let go, my Intuition will rock my world again - like the divorce, meningitis, recovery, moving 4x, and getting my heart broken again and again. I have been living as if the other shoe was going to drop because in the past it has, again and again. I told her I am terrified that after all I've been through, my Intuition will ask me to pick up everything I own and move far, far away from "home." As if I haven't already been through enough! I wail on a regular basis.
I have never lived more than an hour away from where I grew up, and I'm telling a woman who doesn't even live in the same COUNTRY as her childhood about my "tether" to a certain zip code. I understand the irony.
As of late I've come to a metaphorical line in the sand, moving all my little boxes of emotional/physical/spiritual progress to that line and no further. I will say the last year has been rough. I'm tired of all the "work." I would like a break, or for all my hard work to pay off (it already has in a lot of ways, more on that VERY soon). I haven't been willing to let go and see what is beyond that line because IT SCARES THE SHIT OUT OF ME.
My fear isn't exactly unfounded.
I have fallen in love with Montana. In letting go and not resisting my Intuition's call anymore, I understand what she is showing me. I never thought I'd leave California, ever in my life. But at some point, maybe not for a number of years or even retirement perhaps, my trajectory is north.
The mountains are calling, and I must go.
She is always right.