It's not often I long for familiarity, but when I do, the pang hits me like a bullet in my soul, piercing any shred of wanderlust within me.
I want to be home.
This rainy day, for no particular reason, I miss having a home. I miss knowing where I keep my red scarf, using my own dishes, crawling into my own bed. I long for the streets I know, the familiar sights and sounds of a place I understand and rely upon.
Things change constantly on the road and there are days it seems to overwhelm me. Caught off guard by the storm of emotions, I'm drowning in the sense of being lost.
I don't belong anywhere,
Now I'm compelled to wander, because no "place" is home, and perhaps, no "place" ever will be again. I only know that in this moment, I have no home and I belong nowhere and it fills me with a ache to belong.
I have family, but I don't belong with them.
I have friends, but seeing them occasionally keeps them at a distance.
I have a hometown, but it's different now than when I lived there.
Motorcycling is the most individual thing I've ever done. It fills one with independence, self sufficiency and singularity. A slightly darker shade of this same sense is loneliness. One can find peace within oneself while riding, but one can also feel isolated from the rest of society. As travelers, we see ourselves outside the norm, and outside of society in many ways.
Recognizing that one is unique is not always comforting. In fact, in the glaring light of reality, it can be dreadful. The painful knowledge that I don't fit in, that I've always been different, and I will never belong hurts me. I may belong for a season, a weekend, a moment, but once I mount up to leave at the behest of my grinding wanderlust, I belong no more.
Wanderlust is a wicked ache that begs me shed all I know and go it alone. More powerful than my need to belong is my need to follow my inner voice, leading me into the dark of the unknown. No thing I've ever done is harder than looking within and following the frightening reality of my true self.
Motorcycling has opened a door I never intended to open, thrust me into a life I would never have wished for myself. To the degree that it is beautiful and fantastic, it is lonely and painful. It tries my fortitude and my character. It breaks my heart and breaks my body. It bares my soul to the torrents of singularity, compared to none, belonging nowhere, left to define myself with my own devices.
It is the hardest, bravest and most revealing thing I've lived, this traveling about rather aimlessly.
I'm glad I have my husband to travel with me. But he is on his own path, finding his own place.
If I've learned anything it has been that everything is temporary and I've been alone all this time, I just never realized it before now.