The Wanderlust

There exists, somewhere on the Tennessee River, a boat. It isn't particularly new or especially old, and it isn't even beautiful. It's just another pontoon boat, home to frogs and musty life-jackets and a few sun-bleached towels. Looking at it, you wouldn't be able to guess at the soul that this boat has. Perhaps it's the wind rushing by as you take the boat to top speed, or maybe the lazy, sun-soaked days spent eating cheeze-its and floating in the middle of an empty lake, but I think that it's really the name that imbues the boat with its spirit.

The Wanderlust.

There was a little girl who used to be confused by this word. She knew that the boat was named The Wanderlust for her grandfather, and she knew that everyone lovingly teased her grandfather for always having wanderlust, but she wasn't quite sure she understood the true meaning of the word. As she grew up, she watched her grandfather, and her grandmother, and her parents, and her brother, and gradually the word began to come together in her head.

For some time now, she has understood. This is her definition as of right now:

-wanting to learn catalan and german and french and possibly every other language as well, after spending a weekend in barcelona with friends who speak four languages.

-wishing she could live in barcelona, trieste, paris, northfield, asturias, japan, greece, alaska, afghanistan, and probably everywhere else too, all at once, because there's just too much to live in the world and she wants to live it all.

-finding beauty in the most mundane things in life, such as the sophisticated shoe store a few blocks from her house that always, always has abba music blasting. or the cats that rarely move from their stretched-out and lazy positions in the sun of the roman amphitheater. or the old men that gather in cafes as if their sole purpose is to look adorably dignified with their berets and canes and proud chins.

-having such intense feelings for everything and everyone in the world that sometimes you wish you were sad and felt like crying, because sometimes crying seems like the easiest way to ease the ache of so much passion, even when there is no sadness but just the bittersweet knowledge that in life there will always be goodbyes, because nothing lasts forever.

The little girl, now not so little, knows that life would probably be easier if she didn't love everything quite so much. But she has a legacy to follow. Because there's a grandfather, and there's a boat.