In an alternate universe I’m a fearless nomad who doesn’t shudder at change or the unknown or even death. I’m brave, my hair always cooperates, and every day is an adventure. I know that other me is there, lurking just on the other side of the veil, for the simple fact that I share her wanderlust. Ever since I was a kid that’s all I really wanted–an adventure. To do the kinds of things I’d read about in books, the sum of which would be a life worth writing about.
But yearning for something and actually doing it are two different things. Sure I’d love to climb Mt. Everest or swim with great white sharks off the coast of Africa or hike through the Amazon rain forest or a million other things that might kill me. But that’s just it. They might kill me. And that little voice of caution warning me of that fact? Yeah, it’s sort of been there since the day I was born.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t still be a nomad. It doesn’t mean that I can’t explore. It doesn’t mean that I can’t ever discover anything new. I am every day. Because the truth is, to be a writer is to be a nomad. Except we’re not confined to exploring just a physical terrain. What we explore goes beyond that. We’re sailing the seas of consciousness, exploring the intricacies of human emotion, digging deep inside every dark cave and crevice of the human experience and figuring out what it truly means to be alive.
And maybe we don’t figure things out by jumping out of planes or trekking across deserts. Maybe we don’t need the risk of a real, tactile adventure at all. Maybe all we need to do is stand perfectly still. To watch. Maybe that’s ok. Because even if I’m just sitting at my desk or on the couch or in some cramped coffee shop, I can go anywhere, do anything, be anything, feel anything I want. I can forge a trail in this world with just my pen and it can still mean something. It can still take me somewhere. Because the truth is, experiences are meaningless without emotions, and as writers, well emotions are what we do best.