A window-view at the city. A church, surrounded by wet cobblestones. A taxi passes, with windows glowing a nice shade of orange against the blue sky. It’s a nice view, for a hotel window. But what if you had the same view, every moment, of each day?
I’m a traveling man: driving, flying, skating or even floating for a job. If a job requires me to climb a wall and let go with only one robe holding me from a broken neck, it’s a challenge, but I’ll do it. Conquer my fear of heights in a hot-air balloon? Yeah. I get clammy hands from even thinking about it again, but when the job calls for it, I jump in the basket and go for it. (I’m not kidding).
My real fear? That same window. Knowing how everything looks when looking outside, which is kinda the same equivalent of looking inside a fridge, yet exactly knowing what’s in it while not taking anything out.
The Germans have a great word for it. Fernweh. Or as it used to be, Wanderlust. The desire to explore! When things get slow, every fiber in my being aches to get out. Pack a bag, get in a train, plane of whatever, and do exactly that: explore, and come home all the time.
I’m sure psychologist will be lining up to label it as some sort of disorder, but honestly, who gives a flying fuck. I’ll send them a postcard from wherever I am that week.
