I’m feeling extraordinarily bratty today.
It’s not a feeling I’m overly familiar with as I’m grateful for my life and (almost) everything that happens in it.
But for some reason, today, it just doesn’t seem like enough.

I’ve been back in England for 7 months, and although the first few months were a struggle as I tried to fit back into a place I no longer felt a part of, I managed to change my perspective by giving myself an attitude overhaul by focusing less on what had ended, and more on what could be. But whilst giving myself positive pep talks worked in making me see the good in each day, it unlocked ambitions that I didn’t realise I had been hiding, and now that I know that travelling without a deadline is wholeheartedly what I want, it has made me restless…
It’s given me a “now” attitude, which makes me feel like a brat, and I don’t know how to deal with it.
I have patience with other people, but for some reason I struggle to give myself the same leeway.
The Internet is filled with pictures of sunsets, cliff tops and beaches covered in words of the “Just Go” nature.
Words that are designed to encourage you to do things now, because you never know when “later” will become “never”.
And I agree.
But with that feeling of agreement comes a sense of guilt that I’m not out there doing it right this second.
Yes, I lived in Thailand for a year and achieved more than I could ever have hoped.
But that’s where my story began, not where it ends.
There’s so much more that I want to see, do, experience… And more importantly. Eat!
And in 2016 I will do just that.
For you see by 2016 I will have reached the target number I set for my travel fund.
There’s a high chance I will have reached that target before then, but if I’m honest as much as I love travel, when it comes to Christmas, there’s just no place like home. So I’ve decided to see in the new year with family, and then spread these wanderlusting wings.
But that’s a whole year (and a bit) away.
That’s 12 months.
52 weeks.
365 days of living with the gnawing, unshakeable feeling that no matter how good things are, there’s somewhere else I could be. And I feel guilty. Because I’m happy. Friends and family surround me, and I’m here for the special moments in their lives. I’m seeing those closest to me get married, have children and start up their own businesses. I know which aisle to find my favourite foods at the supermarket, and I can’t even begin to explain how much I love driving again.
But then it happens.
I catch sight of a beach, or a blogpost about scuba diving, or a starry New Zealand sky, and my heart races with restlessness. My feet itch and before I’ve even taken a breath my mind is racing with possibilities, and a mere second later I’m knee deep in Google tabs of plane ticket price comparisons, locations and itinerary ideas.
It seems like a curse.
You leave your home country to travel and to broaden your mind and possibilities.
You leave so you can grow. You’re told it’s something that you do and then it’s ticked off your list, but the reality is that it never leaves you. It’s a virus. It burrows deep inside you, festering and growing until it consumes your every thought. You’re happy, but then you see a picture of sheer natural beauty and you’re back to square one.
Imagining all of the possibilities in the world and struggling to focus on one.

This is the cycle of an eternal wanderluster, and whilst it’s an illness I don’t mind having.
I wish it didn’t make me feel so shitty for having to wait. 

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