I have chronic wanderlust. Really, I could hardly go back from a trip directly. I do not think much here. I've taken care of that, though not aware of it. No, looking back, I can not say that I knew what the consequences of my decisions would be.
I did not realize what it would mean to live a big city life before moving to Berlin. It was not clear to me that by not studying, I would forgo the opportunity to plant roots in the earth. It was not clear to me how my long-term travel would ruin the need for a busy working life from 9 to 5, Monday through Friday, from now to retirement. I did not realize how strange it would be to return to everyday life after each of these trips . I did not realize that I would start asking questions about this world. Questions whose answers are to be sought out there. I did not realize that at some point in closed rooms I would not feel well anymore and that being on the way would shape me so much that I can not stand still anymore. But now this is how it is. My name is Gesa Neitzel and I have wanderlust.
It has become unthinkable for me to do an office job for the rest of my life during the week, to relax on the weekends and only to relieve my wanderlust during the two-week vacation. No, it will not be good for a long time. The symptoms have long since become chronic. Only a permanent air change can still promise healing.
So I travel and travel and I travel. And make plans and let the gaze wander into the distance and get hibbelige feet, hardly that stuck again under the office table. At the same time, however, I realize that I do not want to continue this way too long. Traveling around the world alone and without a lead and counting between days to the next departure - that was never the plan. If anything, I was always on the move to find a place to stay. I'm wanderlust, but I'm really homesick.
With advanced disease, my wanderlust takes on different forms. Traveling only for the sake of traveling is no longer enough for me. After all, any amount of self-search will eventually come to an end. But there are enough other good reasons to go out into the world. The wanderlust I will probably not go. That's why it's high time to find a way to come to terms with my illness. And I think I finally know how. I finally know how to tell my story. Of course, I have no idea what exactly will happen in the coming chapters. But finally, I have enough confidence in myself and in the diligence to be able to look forward to the next pages. My life may never be as exciting again as it is now. And not knowing where the journey is going, my biggest incentive is to move on and find out.