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nomadic undercurrents

The desire to be on the move again has me feeling incredibly restless lately.  Yesterday Jewel and I went on a long coastal drive along Route 1, talking about our various travels and what we want to do in upcoming years.

I find myself yearning more and more strongly for a different landscape, different lifestyle, different environment.  My relationship with San Francisco feels like it’s close to expiring, and I’m starting to feel claustrophobic.

Don’t get me wrong, this city is an amazing place for many reasons.  The SF bubble has been a wonderful place to nurture the kink part of my life.  For a year, I’ve been able to focus almost solely on exploring my kinky side in a completely safe, encouraging environment.  I have met some incredible people, and I’ve been fortunate to call many of them friends.

Yet, yet.  I find my mind wandering to the vast western country I passed through on my roadtrip.  I think back on Santa Fe, Denver, Aspen, and it makes my heart skip a beat.  I think about the possibility of visiting New Zealand and Australia, and wonder if I’d be able to return to the US after such a visit.  And then there are the multitudes of opportunities to volunteer, for weeks or for a year, on farms and intentional communities in another country.

How much longer will I be able to stay rooted in one place?  Why is it that I cannot be satisfied to settle in place for more than a year?  I feel the travel itch in my sitbone, crawling under my skin, making the soles of my feet tingle impatiently.

I’m not sure where my next step will take me.  But if I don’t make one, I will go stir-crazy.

Categories: fantasy, travelog
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