It’s cold and there’s a blizzard swirling about outside. The roads are slick and dangerous. I’ve been home all day watching the wind and snow dance from my window.
***
It’s growing. This burning, longing ache for more.
I’m curious by nature, annoyingly so. I was told once that I have a way of pulling stories out of people. I’m a good listener and it’s possible that I’m inviting, but the truth is that I’m simply fascinated by people and their truths, the ways in which they they’ve been shaped by this world we live in.
I’ve been finishing Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers, in which he seeks to explain success. Gladwell asserts that success is largely influenced by several external factors, one being culture. I was fascinated today as I read about the importance of cultural legacies, particularly how they shape and distinguish us from one another.
I was captivated by this exploration, but I was left longing.
***
I have an American friend that grew up in Tanzania, a place that has become as much her home as America is. She is bicultural, a citizen of the world, some would say.
She has stories that are captivating, but are impossible to fully understand and rightfully appreciate from where I sit.
I have yet to see the other side of the ocean. And these stories have only frustrated me. I’m dying to see for myself. I want to know what life is like in Italy, France, Cambodia and Somalia. I’ve got to see it. Touch it. Taste it. Breathe it. Live it.
I’m not looking for a new home. Not yet, not for a while. I’m looking for an adventure. I want to be among the people with the captivating stories. I’m longing to experience new truths.
And it's killing me to sit here watching from my window when there is a whole world to get lost in.
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