spring hunger
Spring is officially here, and whatever mystical intelligence has been coaxing flowers into bloom has also been luring me back out into the world.
Out, out, out.
Since returning from my travels at Christmas, I have willingly cloistered myself at home.
Minimal social events, full-time reading (some classics and a lot of fae fantasy—what can I say? I’m large, I contain multitudes), and a dash of writing (in an attempt to pin down the highlights of my Asian odyssey—before it’s too late and it all melts into a mush of hazy memories. Anyone else mildly concerned by their struggle to remember what they did yesterday? Is this life over 30? Is it only downhill from here? Is this brain rot? sigh).
In all honesty, I find it alarmingly easy to withdraw from the world for long stretches of time.
In, in, in.
Perhaps the Kabbalah astrologer who read my natal chart ten years ago was right—being a nun in a past life has made solitude rather effortless. (She also claimed that, at some point in that lifetime, I fled the convent, became sex-crazed, yet eventually returned to religion with deep conviction. Talk about a character arc.)
That, or I’m simply a well-versed introvert who enjoys lonesome hobbies (it may be a chicken-or-egg situation), admiring hummingbirds fluttering outside my window (a little squeal escapes me every time I spot their tiny bodies zooming around), and saturating my phone with photos of every flower that crosses my path (at this point, there are more roses than people smiling back at me when I open my camera roll).
For years now, this has been part of my annual cycle. I see-saw between dizzying outward periods of non-stop travel (while also running my online coaching business) and the stillness of retreating inward in Mexico during the winter months (if you can call 30+ degrees winter?). If humans need both stability and adventure— I do both on steroids.
For me, this dance is essential. Roaming the world, I discover new cultures, paradigms, and terrains. Pausing allows me to explore the ever-shifting inner landscapes of my own being; it allows me to reacquaint myself with who I have become after being challenged, stretched, and nurtured by newness, and to warmly greet whoever awaits me once the dust settles.
I never emerge the same from my winter cocoon. In truth, I sense that more unfolds during those months when nothing seems to be happening than during the sexier months of travel. It is then that the seeds gathered in faraway lands take root in the safety of home.
Growing up, I had no idea one could live like this. And yet, I seem to have co-created something that surprises even me. While I know the shape of my life will continue to evolve, I find myself excited to challenge what I once thought being an “adult” was supposed to look like. (Reader, I’m a rebel at heart.)
Isn’t it wonderful that we have free will and get to design our unique little worlds?
As I savour my last moments at home—revelling in the preciousness of family and the decadent luxury of being looked after like a child again—I can also sense the ravenous creature that lives in my gut. The one that refuses to settle, or be paralysed by fear, for it longs to devour the world whole with its bare hands. Awakened by the change of season, it stirs—pacing in circles, begging to be fed with fresh impressions, smacking its lips and licking its claws, wondering: where to next?
My time as a (guacamole-stuffed) hermit is coming to an end, and I’m off to Europe.
As I prepare to embark on a new adventure, I can feel the sparkling excitement of the unknown all over my body—like goosebumps. My curiosity wonders what delicious food, fascinating people, and unexpected growth lie ahead... who will I become?
Ready to travel with me?