Written two days ago after a week on the road, where the best writing is always done:
There is an external, undefinable place called elsewhere. A place to which you have never been, and do not know; yet you feel yourself pulled away from the comfort and safety of home to this something, somewhere, else. There are new things to learn. The possibility of discovery. The hope that you might find something yet undiscovered. Possibility and potential. A life you might have otherwise lived given a different context, different opportunities.
But it seems the overwhelming wanderlust that inspires this pursuit of elsewhere grows not necessarily from a desire to see something new, but rather to see oneself — and, crucially, to be seen — in new ways.
Our lives are given validity through the sharing of our stories.
The opportunity to be discovered by somebody new allows yourself the additional opportunity of rediscovering those things about your own life that have become too comfortable. You see yourself, your travels, your home through new eyes, and that which you have gone away from becomes something from which you are no longer compelled to escape.