Wanderlust

Each spring I get the urge to get away.

I'm not talking about taking a trip. I'm talking about moving. Every spring. It's like clockwork. Predictable.

I've toyed with the ideas of moving to Charleston, NC; Los Angeles, CA; San Diego, CA; Tel Aviv, Israel; Italy; Maine; Detroit, MI; the Caribbean; New York City, NY. Warmth, solitude and potential are huge draws.

I do also think about travel for the sake of travel. I have a fantasy of going to Morocco, India, Thailand, Portugal, Spain. I want to see the Alhambra. I want to shop for spices in open air markets. I want to taste fruit that was picked that morning.

I dream of living in a house with large windows and beautiful curtains. Manicured English gardens that I turn into my own private chaotic jungle. An art studio and a dance studio. A ballroom and Bronte-esque parties, lavish and elegant with beverages in absurdly tiny ornate glasses.

In my head, I throw parties with my favorite bands, local and national (and the time to see them and be able to choose them knowledgeably). I swim in the pool in my yard and rinse off in the outdoor shower. I lounge outside and never get sunburned or freckled.

Bartering with local merchants and finding the perfect gifts for family and friends. Taking cooking classes and throwing dinner parties to show off my new skills.

Looking forward to some if not all of these things as I gain financial freedom and days off.