Novaturient (adj, Desiring or seeking powerful change in one’s life, behavior, or situation)
When I was a kid, my family moved around. Neither of my parents were military, we just kept looking for our American Dream. I didn’t mind it so much; when you’re a kid, you get used to anything. I don’t think my brother remembers much of it, maybe he only remembers our last move. Maybe that’s why we’re such different people. The last time my family moved was right before high school, the perfect time to move to a new place. Old place? We were moving back, it’s hard to tell. After
Pre-school (Phoenix, AZ),
4 elementary schools (Pineville, NC; Greensboro, NC; Kernersville, NC; Jamestown, NY),
1 middle school (Jamestown, NY),
and 1 high school (Kernersville, NC),
I wasn’t very good at staying still. We had a four-year average (with some apartments in between) and I wasn’t used to that “stay forever” idea. It wasn’t until I was almost done with college that I realized it.
I went to college four hours (drive) from home. Not a bad distance, I still visited (almost) every break and, because I lived in the cheap housing, I moved back home every Christmas and Summer. It felt a lot like
move to school (4 months)
move home (1 month)
move to school (4.5 months)
move home (4 months)
every school year. Of course, the first year felt a lot more like “friends fun fantastic” and the second year felt a lot like “school sunshine seaside” and it wasn’t until the third that felt like “loss loved lonely”. Needless to say, year three was the worst. It felt a lot like “too long too long too long”. So I did what any self-respecting student would do:
I studied abroad.
Eleutheromania (n, an intense, irresistible desire for freedom)
Ireland. Change. I breathed the air and felt the change. I had visited Europe the summer right before, but it wasn’t the same. I was with my family (too close too close too close) and it was a great time, but I wanted freedom.
Ireland. Freedom. I was far away from home and by myself and I decided to be me and to be free. I was.
Ireland. Home. I felt at home with the people and the places and everything in the world felt right. I still felt about what happened the year before (too hurt too hurt too hurt), but it was less because this was new and free and I felt solid again.
Ireland. Perfect. Pale skin, reddish-brownish-blondish hair, no one noticed I wasn’t Irish until I opened my mouth and the American words tumbled from my mouth. I made friends with the Irish. (Why hang out with International students too much? I had lived with them back home, anyways.)
Ireland. Ended. (too short too short too short)
While I was in Ireland, I went to London and felt right at home. To me, Ireland felt like home in a way nothing else could. I missed my family, but I didn’t want them with me because Ireland was mine. I decided (after 3 months there) I wanted to move there.
Ecophobia (n, a fear or dislike of one’s home)
But nothing is easy. I had obligations (well, just the one, just my Bachelor’s Degree). I knew that if there wasn’t only one internship of a semester left between me and my hard earned degree, I never would have left Ireland. But I did, and it’s done.
I went back (too long too long too long). I finished my degree (too long too long too long). I moved back home (too long too long too long). I itched to be away.
In the span of one year, I went to six countries and flew on 14 different planes. I had experienced movement and was stationary again.
So I did what any self-respecting recent-graduate would do:
I moved to Colorado.
Okay, so I moved in with my gramma and worked at Best Buy, but it was a change at least (not right not right not right). It was a beautiful place, and the people were awesome, and my family was there, but it was no Ireland (not right not right not right). I ignored the little voice in my head until just after Christmas, when a cute boy took me to a movie (not right not right not right). I looked into his eyes and thought “I don’t want to stay here.” (too long too long too long)
Five months later, I did what any self-respecting bird of passage (n, someone who keeps moving from one place to another) would do:
I moved to China.
Resfeber (n, The restless race of the traveller’s heart before the journey begins, when anxiety and anticipation are tangled together)
China. Different. Not home. The first day I spent in China, I wanted to go home. But when I thought about that feeling of “home” and the images I wanted to go back to, I didn’t think of Kernersville, NC (where my parents and brother still are), I thought of Ireland. This was not my plan, the culture-shock demon whispered in my head. The plan was Ireland.
The plan has changed, I whispered back fiercely as the culture-shock calmed down and I found the courage again.
I have been in China for 2 months and already, I am planning on where to go when my contract ends. I have 10 months to figure it out.
And I know the feeling will come again (too long too long too long), but for right now, I’m trying to figure out how to go go go while I’m here (too scared too scared too scared).