I've got the travel bug. The one that, if I could give into it, would get me out of this country. On a plane and over some water. Out of here. Into a strange place. Somewhere I haven't been with people I don't know. OK, maybe I'd like to take one or two people I know.
There are places I'd like to revisit -- Holland for sure. Machu Picchu. Northern Thailand. The Amazon. But I want to hit up some new places. Italy. France. OK all of Europe probably. Some place in Africa. Patagonia. How cool would Patagonia be? (Feel free to picture me as the outdoorsy type now -- but I'm not).
Before I had kids I had started to travel some -- a lot domestically, a little internationally. In fact I was getting tired of not being home. When I had my first baby my boss was wonderful enough to start altering my job so that I didn't have to travel as much and definitely not internationally since those trips usually take longer.
I don't often regret it. But sometimes I do. Today was kind of one of those days.
I found myself wishing not for more, but for different. Maybe it's more. More experiences, more places, more time, more people.
I wonder what my life will be like in ten or 12 years when they are more or less on their own. This is what I hope. That when that time comes and I have a little more wiggle room that I will go to Patagonia. At least Italy. And all the other stuff I set aside, that I'll push forward and find those places and things I'm longing for now.
I want this now -- to make my one shot at raising them to hit the mark. I want that more than anything.
At the same time I want to hang on to that restless feeling just a bit, keep it in the back, alive, so I can take it out and let it pull me forward when the time is right.