Excerpt from Ode of the Traveler

I watched planes land

   from cities and countries 

far away.

Then,

I watched planes take off

   to cities and countries 

far away.

Each plane I was in awe of,

   each city beckoning me to go,

   each country whispering my name,

   each destination etching itself into my soul.

A beckoning, a call.

A whisper, a still small voice.

An etch, a never-ending drive.

Miami International Airport, 13-year-old me.

The Edge of Wanderlust

I put extra days into my travels

to see something new

to see something unplanned

to see a show or a play

to eat with someone I just met

to take a photo at sunrise

If wanderlust is the dream

I leap from its edge

remembering everything as quickly as I can,

for one day, wanderlust becomes a memory. 

Deciding

is scary

and thrilling

at the same time.

In the waiting

we find the small stones

to fit between the larger rocks

We test our resolve

We anticipate

We get antsy

… the closer to our trip.

Some travel because they must. I see them.

tears, anxiety, fear 

happiness, love

 Some travel for their work. I see them.

a soldier, each step memorized

a businesswoman, briefcase in hand

Some travel for some other purpose. I see them.

chatting

Some travel with friends and family. I see them.

holding hands, wearing the same colors of clothing, going to the same place

Some travel to transcend. I see them.

quiet, reflective, alone

Blisters, sore legs, tired limbs

I was on my way home

after walking The Camino.

I knew my soul was different.

Dirty, weary, tired

I was on my way home

after isolation in the Atacama Desert.

I knew my mind was different

Alone, sad, numb

I was leaving my home

after a failed relationship.

I knew my heart was different.