I remember a French Philosophy course I took in college, one that changed the way I read books and wrote words. The professor was tough, I had a lot to prove, and I was eager. We were reading Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice. In this story, a man who leaves his life’s work to reside in Venice for a bit due to a sense of wanderlust.
When I read this word, I became hypnotized by the combination of letters. Poetry made sense. Music made sense. Semantics made sense. All of it was beautiful, and I didn’t really know what it meant yet.
I went home after class and looked it up in the dictionary: Wanderlust is a strong desire for or impulse to wander or travel and explore the world. It was this moment when I came to realize that my life made sense too. I have wanderlust, not just as a momentary feeling that some might acquire, but this is in my blood. This is what has been bothering me for years. I cannot settle, and this is okay, because I simply need to see the world.
Can you remember a moment in your life when something has struck you so hard, your world started to make sense? These moments are why we are here, I believe. We are alive to make sense of our surroundings and to put meaning in them.
Can you guess where I’m going next?