I miss every place I leave. Wanderlust keeps me moving, but leaving never gets easier. The opposite, even.
I was in Colorado for over a year. I spent this summer in Washington State. This week I’m in California. And with each of these places (and every single other place) I have fallen completely and totally in love with the little things that make that experience uniquely its own, and unlike anything else. I have a restless nature. I never make up my mind. Until I leave a place. The moment I go is the moment I begin to understand everything I feel about this place. That place, now. And my heart will hurt, inevitably, because that was a place where I learned a new way to experience life. With beautiful and unique people.
Everywhere I go I will find people who are as curious and passionate as me. And the experiences we create together will be completely ours. I love that. In a life of constant flux THAT is something I can be sure of. Leaving Washington felt weird. But getting here- in this new place- felt immediately like home. But in a few days I’ll be heading out again.
Anxiety and fear accompany the excitement, sure. But it feels pretty fucking reassuring to be this in love with the experience of living.