On finding the joy of travel in your backyard. Original story in Worldhum.
Home is a difficult concept for any professional who moves for a living. I am that, and more so, I am obsessed with place.
Lately my mind has retreated into its darkest corners, partly because it has tried to reconcile my love of the world and the road—the me who never wanted to stop moving—and my love of this place, my home, which gave me the eyes and curiosity that first got me out the door.
I took a swim the other day in the St. Mary’s River, where I have gone since I was a child whenever I needed renewal. I stripped down to my underwear and slipped into the water, the last jellyfish of the summer waving their poisonous goodbyes to the season, the green cool of the place washing my skin and soul. I thanked the world for being so beautiful, for constantly renewing my appreciation of it, even as that appreciation has sent me down roads that are sometimes lonely and difficult.
One day, I’ll strike a balance between the road and home. Until then, I skip stones on the river and thank it again for being so beautiful. Beautiful enough for me to spend a life seeking something to complement it. Beautiful enough to always need its steadying embrace.
When I do stop moving, I won’t, because the river always flows under my skin.
Full story at Worldhum