I've often thought maybe I am a nomad at heart, or was one in a previous life, because I've willingly lived in many different countries and there is no particular family home from my childhood that I long for or mourned when my parents sold. That said, I don't think I could be a true nomad. I love the little, permeant sanctuary that is our home.
I do love to travel: going to new places, seeing things I haven't seen before, meeting different sorts of people. This weekend's road trip accomplished that and more. The weather turned out better than expected; my husband and I didn't bicker over directions; and we stayed on budget. As much as I enjoy the travel experience, though, I enjoy coming home. I relish the feeling of walking through our familiar front door after being away. I eagerly anticipate sleeping in our bed again. The cuddles and neediness of a cat who's missed us is icing on the cake. I guess that's tonight's message: go away, even for a night, so you can come home again.
On another note: tonight I'm battling self-doubt with this blog. I'm questioning my worthiness to write everyday in a public forum like this. I'm not profound or innovative or very funny. I suspect that these little snippets aren't offering anything to the world. Why am I doing this, I wonder. Then this tiny, stubborn voice in my head pipes up, 'You're blogging for writing practice, for self-reflection and remembrance. That's enough reason.' So I will go on posting as long as I can beat back the demons of self-doubt.
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