Isaac Marsh

Happy Friday!

Isaac is back yaya!! Today he is taking about Wanderlust. Check out  his last guest post a traveler’s story


I like to read articles about traveling. Scratch that, I love to read articles about traveling. From Tasmania to Timbuktu, I’ll read it and chances are I’ll think it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. Lately though, I’ve noticed a growing trend that’s just not doing it for me. Read any article about distant places and quiet streets and you’ll see the word being thrown around carelessly – wanderlust. If you’re like me, you get chills every single time you see those beautiful letters. Even typing it, I felt my shoulders do a little shimmy as the word sent a spark down my spine. Wander. Lust.

The worst thing that can happen to a word is that is gets debased. Through continuous, unthoughtful use, even the most provocative and powerful words can be watered down. Example as follows: “Awesome.” These tacos are awesome. That building is awesome. Erm, those things aren’t awesome. Awesome is a word that describes something that instills feelings of fear and wonder all at once. Sure, there may be fear-inducing aspects of those objects (technically, I suppose that building could fall on you), but they are not inherently fearful. So unless you’re afraid that the glory of those tacos is going to give you some gnarly indigestion, they aren’t awesome. Some things that can certainly be awesome: mountains, oceans, rip-roaring concerts, yadda yadda. It’s the anticipation and the uncertainty that makes these things truly awesome. It’s a feeling of something greater than us – something infinite in its reach – that cultures the awe.

Wanderlust; back to the topic at hand. I read an article lately that described this titan of an expresser as “A strong desire to travel.” Ok. Wait, what!? “A strong desire to travel?” Really? That’s what you’re going to go with? You have an entire history of people longing for something beyond the horizon, and you’re going to encompass it as a “strong desire?” It’s not a strong desire; it’s a lust. It’s a captivating instance of an immeasurable draw. Wanderlust is the siren song for those wanting to exist beyond the here and now. It promises to ask every question and then find every answer for those who need to know.

I have some strong desires, but wandering is not one of them. I currently desire some cake and maybe a nice nest of blankets to hide away from the cold. Those are the things I desire. But wandering, to go off in search of that ever-distant horizon, is something else. I crave the possibility of sleeping under the stars, feeling waves of sea and sand whipping against my face, breathing heavily as I top a peak, and losing myself in the colors of a new culture. I don’t want it, I need it. It’s a desperate longing for something that seems so close, but remains just out of reach. Wanderlust is the endless search for those ethereal moments that brush against our fingers. We cling to them as a falling person tries to hold onto the edge of a cliff and as someone waking fights to remain a part of that fading dream for a second longer. We wander because we could never do anything else.

Wanderlust is not simply a want, but is instead a staple for those who have been touched by that spirit of insanity known only as ‘there.’ It’s an ever-present, always pleasant, never hesitant desire to go ‘there.’ Wherever it may be, whatever it might hold, it’s somewhere out ‘there’ and finding it isn’t a matter of wanting, but a matter of need. It wraps you up, ties you up, and captures you in its scent. Like searching for a lost love, you are consumed with a need to pursue, a crippling need to find what you once held. And without it, you’re not entirely you. To choose to wander is to deny a stable home. To choose to wander is to choose uncertainty. You’ll have those split-seconds, those fleeting instances, of brushing your fingers against the horizon. But then, like a lover who isn’t sure they’re ready to be loved, they’re gone. You’ll revel in it when you can hold it, you’ll despair when it leaves, and then you’ll tighten your boots and follow the trail of breadcrumbs it left.

We wander because we could never do anything else. That is wanderlust.

Check out his website  Light Fell
Thanks for reading!


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