Every year, on January first, whether it bears any truth or not, there is a general consensus that everyone is allowed to dream big once more, allowed to imagine the best of themselves, allowed to “restart.”
Last year, around this time, I was on week four of my travels in South East Asia. This time around, I am on my 5th month of a one-year lease on an apartment. I can’t pretend that I’m not itching to step-out the door and just go. So, now that a full year has passed since I was last wandering, it is sometimes hard to find that full-of-life-feeling that envelops me when I am out there. The excitement of being back in Boston has gone, the madness of drinking the summer away is well over, and I have more than fallen in to the routine of monotony. Everything is still. With snow banks on very corner, bare trees standing stiff, and frigid air filling my lungs, everything is frozen. Even my wanderlust.
It’s been about half a year since I put a pause on my travel, and I have about half a year before I go off again. I cannot help but feel unmotivated. I feel too far away from the high I felt after returning from a journey and too far away from the anticipation of the next trip. But if there is one thing that travel has taught me it is to embrace every minute and devour each day with fervent thirst. And so, while the first of the year doesn’t necessarily start anything new in my life, I’m going to take its figurative meaning literally. I’m deleting the feeling of stagnancy. I’m raising my excitement bar. I’m refreshing.
While I might not be crossing borders there is still so much to do. I’m dreaming of a winter filled with ski-trips, ice-skating, hot cocoas, and warm liquors. I’m picking up my pencil and work on those projects that I have put aside. I’m going to concentrate on those resolutions I made up. I’m going to pretend I’m trying to go to the gym. I will join friends and have good times. I will live my life as if I was on traveling, because life is only as good as you make it.