Wanderlust

wanderlust |ˈwändərˌləst|

noun

a strong desire to travel; innate desire to rove about

That settles it. It seems I have finally diagnosed myself.

And I am completely restless.

Is it just me that constantly feels just tired of everything that is familiar? Familiarity has gotten to the point of dullness, and dullness has graduated to anxiety. I want to do something. I want to be someone who matters. Someone who, when they have grandchildren, can tell them about their adventures traveling around the world and seeing new sights and meeting different people.

It only occurred to me today that I have been very uneasy with the way things are going for quite a few months now. It has dawned on me that I'm not satisfied with where I am in my life. 

It's gotten to the point where literally every morning I wake up and play my day out before me in my head. And it feels like I should just get right back into my bed and never step through my bedroom door.

Well, I tell myself, I'll drag myself to class at 8:50, listen to the teacher talk for around 45 minutes, and then begrudgingly I will work on my assignment. Next, I will convince myself that I am somehow psychic and that I know who will talk to me and what they'll say, and I'm wrong about it 90% of the time. Following this, I will tell myself what I will do when I get home, what homework I will work on, and in what order, and sometimes when I am feeling really bored, I can even start predicting what will be served for dinner. This is strange. I don't like it.

I was just discussing this topic earlier this afternoon with a friend. She mentioned that her day to day life just felt arduous. Sometimes she was just bored. Utterly spiritless. Unenthused about what one should normally be enthused about. And I completely know the feeling.

I'm starting to think it's not uncommon. Let me know if you disagree.

A couple months ago, I read "Paper Towns" by John Green. (It's definitely worth a read if you haven't already read it.) Margo Roth Spiegelman, the protagonist's love interest and childhood friend, goes through a stage of existential void. She wonders why everything is the way that it is, and struggles to find meaning in her life, stating that she has "lived [in her 'paper town'] for eighteen years and [she] has never once in [her] life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters."

And I can relate to Margo to such great extent. What is the purpose of it all? I'm no psychologist, but maybe seeing more of the world will help me develop a more well-rounded viewpoint.

But for now, to quote John Green, "I go to seek a great perhaps."

And perhaps I will satisfy my wanderlust and find great meaning.

One day.