Wanderlust has pulsed in my inner life, leading me to reach for new places and experiences, since at least the third grade. That’s the first clear memory I have of the euphoria of anticipating a trip. My aunt and uncle had invited me to join them and my younger cousin for a weeklong visit to southern California.
Southern California. I remember naming the place as if it were exotic, telling anyone who would listen about this fantastical locale I would be visiting. A place of beaches and the world renowned San Diego Zoo. A place, in fact, only seven hours away by car down I-5, but seven hours is an approximation of eternity for an eight-year-old.
With each new year of my life the longing to be away has lingered. In high school half the fun of youth group was going away to camp or leaving the country for the first time on a short term missions trip. I fantasized about going away to college, which would turn out to be for naught. Instead I honeymooned with my husband, deeply in love with him and the moonlight we shared over the Pacific. In the midst of childbearing years, overwhelmed by the necessary but often stifling grip of my place, I marked time by our family trips to Disneyland. Each new year as I survey our calendar, travel is still at the forefront of my mind; where will this year take us?
This longing has made home a complicated concept for me. Home is the place I’m always leaving behind…
To read the rest, visit my friend Jen Pollock Michel‘s blog: http://jenpollockmichel.com/2017/02/10/birdtree-street-vacaville-california-guest-post-by-aleah-marsden/ Hers is one of my favorite spaces on the internet, so be sure to check out some other posts in her Home series and sign up for her excellent “monthly-ish” newsletter: Miscellany.