That’s right, I’ve just likened myself to a deer. If you know me well, you would know I am almost nothing like a deer. I certainly cannot jump, my pelt is rather more white than brown, and my hooves lack a distinct lightness of step. I do however enjoy the freedom of an open plane, grasslands where you can roam uninhibited, streams with crystal cool water to frolic in, winding your way through an indigenous forest, nothing but nature around you for miles in every direction. I realise how this sounds, and yes I have a four year old daughter, and yes I’ve watched Bambi more times than I can count, but I have also just had six months of freedom, six months of running in which ever direction I chose.
Being home, and engrossed in daily life, has highlighted my confinement. The adjustment period needed to integrate me back into ‘normal’ life is overwhelmingly more complex than I anticipated. As doe-eyed as you might think I am, I didn’t foresee this complication, a feeling of hovering above life, but not quite in it. Everyday I wake up in the same house, and face much the same day as the one before. The routine I so longed for while we were travelling is now here and has taken hold of me like the teeth of a snare. As unpleasant as that sounds, I don’t dislike my life or my routine. What I dislike is that I don’t have the option to head into the hills with my family and hike until we all fall over, that we can’t all climb into a car and drive hundreds of kilometres talking nonsense and laughing, reading each other novels while the children sleep, and trying to formulate the strangest noises we can while passing the tedious hours strapped to a chair. Heading to a new ‘home’ every few days was exhausting, but it also gave us the opportunity to live like locals in a foreign city and visit sights I had only seen in movies and National Geographic magazines. As tiring as living like that was, I felt like we were living, really experiencing life.
I never really understood the idea of being bitten by the travel bug. I couldn’t understand a person’s desire to sit for hours on a plane, travel in sticky public transport and sleep in uncomfortable beds. Being in a breath-taking place, I totally get, but I never thought the route getting there was worth it. I’ve only recently come to realise that being bitten by the travel bug means you are entirely willing to tweak (read ‘unhinge’) your comfort levels, that seeing new things everyday, things that change your frame of reference and adjust your previous ideas about a place, a group of people, or a whole nation, is worth its weight in sweaty public transportation.When we arrived back from the States I was happy to give travelling the old boot for at least the next ten years. After a week, I had changed my mind enough to be planning an epic trip for the end of the year. I now find myself chomping at the bit, spurring my iron horse on so we can rake in more colourful notes that will procure our passage to ever more far off lands.
If mind reading was possible in a blog, you would all know I say the above with my heels dug firmly into Capetonian soil. I have never felt more at home and more in love with my city. The bug that has bitten me seems to be one most profoundly addicted to spending quality time with my family, in a place where time has less of a hold on us. In many ways I feel torn. Pandora’s box that was cracked open on our travels has without a doubt left me feeling wanting. My only consolation is that wanting time with my family in a place we can all learn and grow, are both great things to want. I also know that the minute we have left Cape Town behind us, my heart will feel wrenched from my chest, securely chained to the mountain and white sandy beaches we’re leaving behind. How have these complexities of life and adulthood crept up on me? I could have sworn I knew it all when I was eighteen, and it was far simpler than this.
Sometimes growing up blows. Sometimes the more you realise about yourself the harder life becomes. But sometimes, just sometimes, realisation can be beautiful. Knowing where you belong in the world is a precious gift far too few people have experienced. Knowing that place will always be there, no matter how far you stray from it, however painful it may be, gives you a foundation of strength and a centre of love to radiate from. Exploring the world and all its magnificence is extreme! It offers you everything: a view inside your soul, a view inside the others travelling with you, a glimpse into the past and the future, an appreciation or an abhorrence, a perspective where previously there was only narrow mindedness. It offers understanding, while at the same time shrouding you in confusion and doubt. It broadens every facet of thought you have ever had, offering so much more to your life and your soul than you thought possible while cuddled in cotton-wool at home sipping expensive local wines complaining about your lack of promotion and the increase in the fuel price. Life is so much bigger, so much more.
I love my home, I love my routine, God knows I love my bed, but some comforts are worth sacrificing for edification and an epic family adventure. Maybe the lesson is that I don’t need to reintegrate. Maybe I can continue to feel like Bambi caged up in a zoo. Maybe that niggling feeling will be what helps us grab every day, make the most of our time at home, while dreaming of the ambitious adventures that lie ahead… may there be many. Bring on the niggles! Xx
My little family 🙂
