Today I was killing time while avoiding packing up the last of my worldly belongings to go to Michigan (step one on the way to Abu Dhabi). You shouldn't be surprised by this, as that's what I do most days - kill time and avoid packing. And during this time, I read (okay, scanned the "headlines" of) The Huffington Post. And I kid you not, there was an essay entitled The Romance of Elsewhere.
And I thought...Someone's been reading my mind!
My family has long been used to me taking off for parts unknown, but only recently (in the past year or so) they have started to express concern that I am "running away" from something. I'm not, though. Unless you count boredom of place as a thing to run away from.
I was so excited to read this essay; it was like reading my own life (partly imaginary, as I'm not from South Africa, nor am I a writer...yet). It's not that I hate "home" so much - though I do wonder what home actually is anymore - it's just that home is just...so...ordinary. I know all about home. There are so many corners of the earth that I don't know all about, and I want to go and see and touch and smell and just be.