n. 1. a strong, innate desire to rove or travel about.
Did Plato feel well-traveled? He sure seemed like it to me, with all his adventures and roaming about, crossing large bodies of water (which was a sure expedition at the time) and getting into all sorts of mischief. It made me think of wanderlust.
There’s constantly an antsy sensation within me to be somewhere far and somewhere new and sometimes it keeps me up much too late at night, taking away precious time to gently flutter my eyelids close and isolate myself from reality for a little while through a good night’s sleep. Sometimes it keeps me distracted while on long bus rides to class or to home as I stare out huge glass windows. During breezy mornings or sunny afternoons, I ask myself why I yearn to be somewhere other than this beautiful place I call home. I mean, yeah, this is where my comforting family and wonderful friends are; this is where my overly-cluttered bedroom is; this is where I have grown up for basically half my life.
If home is where the heart is, what happens if your heart is just all over the place? Then what? What is the value of a second home in comparison to a first? Are they ranked in terms of importance or sentimental value or are they both just as relevant? What happens when these homes add up and you find your mind and your soul scattered all over the place, far far away from where your body is? What happens when one home becomes two, then two homes become five, then five becomes ten?
Where was Plato’s “home”? Did he find himself constantly wondering about what else is out there for him to see? Was he like me too?
I have this theory about why I desire being in new places so much. I think it’s because I leave little pieces of me in little nooks and crannies within the ground, between significant (to me anyway) landmarks and roots that dig deep into the earth; I leave these little pieces within the crevices of people’s palms – the lines that run along our palms and fingers, making up our distinct prints. They’re so microscopic and hard to see but, maybe, every microscopic chunk, in retrospect, tugs at these little strings in my heart as I feel each piece getting chipped away.
I mean – it’s not like it’s a bad thing. I would never ever view having several homes to run to and love and feel comfortable in as something negative. But sometimes, it just feels funny or odd, like there’s this feeling of disconnect. Other times it’s so weak that I can push it away but other times it is so strong that I am jumping impatiently at the thought of being far far away.
I want to be in places with plenty of people to meet, where the sounds of crows and voices talking over each other act as soothing melodies to my ears. I want to hear waves crashing ashore, and birds chirping and the wind whistling through the trees. I want to be in places with plenty of sights to see; perhaps where city lights that should blind me really do everything but that, or perhaps where lush greens and blue skies run for vast distances, calming me down. I want to be surrounded by life and zeal and energy.
I wonder if Plato ever feels the same. Do you?