It’s a common desire, this need to “travel the world”. Lots of people talk about it as though it’s some easily-achieved goal, as though there’s a checklist they can conquer within the span of a few years. It’s almost trendy to be a traveller, or to plan travels at all. Yet, despite many young people proclaiming their status as globetrotters, I often think a very staggering thought.
Sometimes, I wish that I didn’t have the desire to be nomadic.
From the beginnings of my childhood until this very day, I can’t ever remember not wanting to live out of a small bag and see different places. This unusual feeling first manifested in oddly vivid dreams that turned into imaginative short stories that were written years before I even hit the double digits. It always seemed as though it was what I was supposed to do, rather than settle down at a young age.
What was wrong with me?
Sometimes, I still think about that. On a daily basis, I feel grateful for my life. I feel grateful for having the choice to do what I want, live where I want, and travel to where I want. However, while many of the people I come across are excited to set roots where they are, I keep thinking of the next step. It’s not that I’m inherently unhappy. Far from it. I’m so happy, so excited, and so passionate that I won’t let another day pass by without at least some minor lesson learnt. Maybe it’s because of some great revelation or simply due to who I am; either way, I refuse to settle into one place forever. This means that I will probably move at least one more time in my life. I realize that I could settle somewhere and travel from there, but to live a life without any travel would be a tough thing to accomplish.
Is this normal?
It probably isn’t. However, it’s who I am. For a long time, family members and friends would ask me why I believed so greatly in seeing and living in new places. For me, it’s not about saying, “I’ve been to (insert country)”, nor is it for the pictures/tangible pieces of evidence. It’s for the experience.
Although I still can’t fully explain my own thoughts on the matter, I’ve come to a somewhat reasonable conclusion: I was a “travel baby”. I was born in a country I have no actual relation to. My parents are not from there, nor did I grow up there. They were travelling at the time, living as expats in another country. Had I been born 6 months earlier or later, I could have been born in an entirely different country, or even continent.
So, while I’m still not completely sure why I can’t shake this strong desire to roam around, the randomness of my place of birth could somewhat explain it. Right?
Were you born where you live/grew up, or somewhere entirely different?