Wanderlust

From L, somewhere out there:

…The book is amazing. And kind of scary. Scary in that it’s so similar to how I feel. Scary in that I’m now opening previously closed windows and doors in my mind and feeling vindicated regarding all my deep secret longing to flee my life and go running out into the world. I used to think that maybe I was crazy to feel that way. It’s also scary because at 32, I feel like I missed the window for irresponsible, unadulterated travel.

Anyway. I did as much of it as I could right up until I went to grad school (I literally came home the day before classes started)…

Since then, travel has been limited to my allowed work vacation time. It kills me. I somehow managed to find myself in a career I love, except that I am on a path that requires me to be reliable, consistent and present for my clients week after week.  What have I done?  Then of course, the stability required for grad school and a career, and being a licensed professional has led to other stable, scary things. Like a house. Dogs. A fiancee and a very postponed wedding…

I feel like I’m addicted to the travel for similar reasons you described in Wanderlust: escapism, simplicity, and the love part too.

From Kai in Vancouver:

I’ve just finished reading your book “wanderlust” in about a combined 8 hours over the past two days. I didn’t even intend to buy a travel lit book, as most of the species have always failed to convey the sense of drama and soul-searching that comes with real travel. But I wanted to send you an email to say that I really enjoyed it, and that many of the things you’ve written about strike pretty close to home. I’m a Vancouver girl as well, studying International Studies, contemplating whether to get a career or sail to Vanuatu this summer. My story isn’t quite as interesting as yours yet, but I’m working on it. Anyway, just wanted to let you know I loved your book, please keep writing!

Needless to say, I lean toward Vanuatu.

Artist Erik Sanner invited me to participate in a show called “Worth Telling.” The idea: He asked nine writers to submit short passages and is matching each one with an artist. The artist will then create a work inspired by the writing. At the show, viewers get to see if they can match the words with the works they inspired. I submitted this outtake from “Wanderlust:”

He asked, “Beth, are you bored?” To my surprise this resonated immediately. How could I be bored? I had nothing but parties and sailing ahead for days. I was in a place as dreamily beautiful as any I’d ever seen, with its cellophane water and rose-colored dawns and dusks. But I didn’t feel taken hold of. I wanted to be irrevocably gripped. I wanted a sensory extreme, because this, around me, was not interesting enough. I wanted total absorption.

I’m very curious and a little nervous to see what the result will be.

From a blog post by Sandi in Nebraska, about her own wanderlust and “Wanderlust” the book:

Tim has the wanderlust bug too. We both do. And we think we need to really do something big. I don’t want to speak about what we have in mind it because I am afraid I might jinx it, so we’ll see. We’ll see what kind of money we can scrounge up. We always talk of selling our cars and house and just traveling the world. Of leaving all the things that seem to tie us down.
So, wish me luck for our next adventure.

Good luck!

Read the rest here.

From J in Seattle:

I was in the shower last night (I think best whilst lathering myself up i guess) and started to think about how I never did what you did and how I wish I had, as I’d always wanted.  Like you, I think Seattle blows.  It has it’s nice points, but it is what it is - wet, dark, boring.  Then I got to thinking about how I’ve been sucked into your book and started thinking about other books like it I’ve read.  Turns out a good portion of the books I’ve ever read over my life were nonfiction about one person on some kind of lone or semi-lone adventure, somewhere.  So I suppose that’s a lot like putting lemon juice in a wound that never heals, reading about other people doing something I always wish i had.

From Adam Ross’ novel “Mr. Peanut:”

Men dream of starting over. Not even necessarily with another woman. They dream of a clean slate, of disappearing, of walking off a plane on a layover and making a new life for themselves in a strange city—Grand Rapids, say, or Nashville. They dream of an apartment all their own, of silence, of joining Delta Force and fighting in Iraq, of introducing themselves by the nickname they’d always wished they had. Of a time and place where they can use everything they know now that they hadn’t known then—that is, before they were married. And then they might be happy.

Make that women, too.

From S in Phoenix:

My husband tolerates my travels but is never happy when I leave—he does not understand my wanderlust at all, and it is somewhat of an obsession.
 
I appreciate the opportunities that my career in travel has allowed, but I always wonder how my life might have been much different had I chosen a slightly different path.  Your book allowed me to vicariously live some of those paths such as living the life of a diplomat, nannying in a foreign country, following your whims, etc.  And to put it out there that it also has caused you heartache and grief—but that you cannot control it.
 
My travels around the world have always had to be in shorter segments—in order to maintain my marriage and family life that I chose.

I had lunch with an editor this week who told me he loved “Wanderlust” but for my abuse of the word “like,” specifically my tendency to use it when I should have used “as.”

Well. Despite my professed love for correct usage, not to mention status as a professional editor, I’d never given this one any thought, so I looked it up and felt semi-justified to learn that it’s the subject of a raging debate.

In short:

“She felt like her whole world was crashing down.” WRONG!

“She felt as though her whole world was crashing down.” RIGHT!

“He felt like he was getting high.” WRONG!

“He felt as though he was getting high.” RIGHT!

But:

“He felt like he was high.” A-OK.

At least that’s my understanding from reading a few rundowns of the rule like this one.  Please weigh in if you think I’m wrong.

From L in California:

I’m L___, I’m 27 and I hail from NZ. Your writing about NZ was perfect, I currently live in the U.S. and am asked daily, “why on earth would you leave such a beautiful, desirable country?” You understood. There’s not a hell of a lot going on in the Antipodes, gorgeous as it is. May I be egotistical, and assume that perhaps you’re interested in my history? I’m from Kerikeri, in the Bay of Islands, a 45 minute drive north from the Whangarei port that you mentioned. I left at 17, moved to Brazil, and stayed 18 months. Went back to NZ, struggled and struggled to stay put so I could complete my BA in English and PoliSci. Did it! I then left for Europe, namely both Seville & Lisbon for a while. Met an American guy, married him at age 21. Wondered what on earth I’d been thinking as the wanderlust overtook… fooled myself for months thinking at such an early age that I could do the settled, conformist thing in small-town USA! I managed the marriage for about 2 years… Then decided to spend 18 months teaching in China and South Korea, 6 months in Prague, 2 in Vietnam… and of course, back to the husband, who I then left.

So now I’m gearing up to go again, I plan to stay 6 more months here in California at my corporate job. My need to leave tortures me on a daily basis, but I must get the finances in order! After that, I think I’ll be unemployed in Laos and Cambodia for as long as I can possibly afford. But, your book spoke to me! I often wonder what the hell I’m doing. Shouldn’t I be cultivating a future for myself? Almost all of my friends, from both NZ and the U.S., are settling into 2.5 kids & a mortgage. But all I can think of is leaving.

Some of my favorite emails from readers are the ones in which they share their own stories of wanderlust. Below is part of a letter from Liz in Washington, DC:

…I turn 26 in a couple of weeks, and recently returned from a solo trip around the world.  My family and friends couldn’t, and I knew wouldn’t, understand why I’d quit my “successful” job in D.C., get rid of my belongings, and jump on a plane with fewer plans than pairs of underwear in my backpack.  

I purchased Wandelust recently and wanted to say, thank you. 
My first stop was Auckland, New Zealand, and like so many sentences and details of your book, I visually & emotionally resonated with your description of walking down Queen St.  I too have felt the sensation of redefining stupidity - in a cab with a Kiwi guy I’d just met at a bar, promising to show me his music back at his place; on a motorbike  in the Thai mountains having convinced the rental company I knew how to drive manual just like the guys; wandering the streets of Cairo at night..  All things that made me think “My dad would so not be happy about this.”
Toward the end of my trip, after 16 countries, I found myself in Manhattan trying on engagement rings with my friend who has wanted to marry me since college.  A couple weeks after I was back in DC, and he in Europe playing pro basketball, I came to my senses.  
These lines jumped out, providing me with an understanding of my uncharacteristic devotion, then my 180 decision:
“There was something manic about the headlong rush, and that was what made it so compelling.“ 

“I sensed that I had a scary kind of power of Stu, one that I was in danger of abusing.  It made me feel responsible for his actions and feelings, and paradoxically hate that responsibility.”

I haven’t been able to justify my abandonment of such an amazing person, but I shared this sentence with a friend today because THAT is how to describe it!   Then I felt compelled to write you.”

I love tales of love and travel—you can send them to me at elisabeth.eaves@gmail.com.