There is an affliction some of us have. It’s called wanderlust. It’s compulsive and powerful. Some of us learn how to work around it, but it’s still there causing insomnia and impulsive weekend road trips.

Those of us so afflicted see a desolate road or a dark highway and there is a pull in our chests to take that road wherever it winds. The feeling often starts with a musing of “where might I go if I could go anywhere?” Perhaps some time in the evenings is spent tracing routes on GoogleMaps. I used to have a road map of the United States hanging on the wall across from my bed. I would lie in my bed creating points from A to B to C to D to E, when I should have been getting my good nights sleep for work the next day.

Then there are days where tracing routes on a map isn’t enough and I have the tingling in my muscles that make me get up and GO.
Sometimes I have a companion for these jaunts.

and sometimes it’s just me.

I’ve had this feeling for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, my mom and I drove from southern Illinois to Berkeley, California and back more than a few times. For many years, my favorite sunrise was looking out past a field while standing in the parking lot of a Howard Johnsons somewhere in Oklahoma. I love that forever sky.

I’ve done that trip and many more. A lot of them alone, starting at age 17. Once I get past the first day of driving, I settle in to a comfortable rhythm. That is where I love to be – after the first day of settling in, and before the anticipation of immanent location arrival. That is when I leave my stressors behind and have no particular destination except for the next place to gas up, eat, or find lodging.