That dreaded feeling hit me again today. One moment I’m trying my best to produce moves that somewhat resemble the Arriba instructor’s and the next “BAM” that overwhelming, all-encompassing ache hits and radiates from my solar plexus.
Since I was a child my family has always called it Wandering Fever. My grandmother used to get it, she’d take off for weeks or months at a time when it would strike. My mother still gets it, she’s always been so understanding when I get it, because of course she really does get how I feel. She’s never just taken off when it happens, mind you she’s taken us kids when we were younger on random road trips.
It strikes at different times, and unlike “Spring Fever” doesn’t appear just in the spring. I can get it anytime, any season.
It’s an ache that’s accompanied by overwhelming sadness at a loss I don’t grasp the root of. I feel like I’m missing something. It’s almost as if my spirit has heard a call and I don’t know how to answer it. I’ve traveled more miles than I care to admit trying to assuage the ache. I’ve hopped on buses, and trains, walked aimlessly until I was too tired to walk anymore, I’ve convinced close friends to go on road trips with me and random travels, but to no avail.
I never end up wherever it is that I feel called to be, and eventually the feeling goes away. But it sucks while it lasts. It used to be exciting when I was younger, mostly because I thought I’d eventually find what the heck I was looking for. Now, now I just try my best to breathe through it, and remember that it’ll eventually pass.