It is a curse.
To long for the there and not the here. For wander and sore feet.
It is a curse.
To be present, but never fully. To be a slave of an never ending desire for movement.
When one decides to tame what shouldn’t be tamed – himself, it feels like slowly dying. Soul feels it. Feet became impatient residents of one’s body. Eyes are getting hungry while heart whispers silently: “This is not for me. This is not for me”. But shush dear heart, don’t make it even harder.
Freedom is worth risking
I left and came back.
If I haven’t done so, would my transformation be completed? Would I be the person I am today? Would I ever get to realize what kind of life I do wish to live? After being committed to the Road and staying in the same place, I know now what I will never choose again.
It costs me dearly.
I walked barefoot for months and stretched my body in front of the only viewer, the ocean, and now I walk the streets full of concrete, clashing with thousands of others. I sang freely on a bike, somewhere in the middle of Vietnam, and now I sit silently in a bus with the sole destination – work. My face was painted with the laughter when I danced in a tropical forest, chasing the fireflies and watching thousands of sparkling beads in the sky. There, and not the here, I felt genuine happiness. In strangers I found it. In spices and smells that come from faraway. I followed the beats of my drums recklessly. I felt the river of joy moving in me. I risked everything for freedom.
“Nothing can be compared to the new life
that the discovery of another country provides
for a thoughtful person.
Although I am still the same,
I believe to have changed
to the bones”.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Wolves inside of me are roaring. Oceans are calling. I, myself, chained my own wilderness. My most beautiful thoughts are replaced with many concerns. Wonderful memories flood my mind. I scrape pieces of inspiration, keeping my head down so I wouldn’t see them doing what I cannot – rising above the buildings, flying shamelessly and spreading their white wings. Do seagulls know how privileged they are?
Longing for unknown shores
It is like a disease that makes me want to rip it out of myself. I want to scream and run but I stay obediently. Longing in silence. I do what other people do, wondering if they are truly happy with their sedentary lives. In a place that I cannot wait to leave, I bruise and heal. I am “paused”. I long for unknown shores and although nothing holds me here, I would suffer even more knowing that I gave up. I don’t give up on people or of places. Stubborn as I am, I will succeed in silencing a hurricane. I will succeed in what I came for – working and saving money for my next getaway. And then, when the time comes, I will meet myself once again where the wild is. Life will be soul-smashingly beautiful again.