Wanderlust

Wanderlust is my word of the week.
It is a noun, and it means a strong, innate desire to rove about or travel.
I love to wander.
It’s actually quite easy because my mind has this magical ability to venture off into the fields of my thoughts, to wade through memories of yesteryears, or tumble into the lustrous estates of my future.

My husband too loves to wander.
But unlike me, it does not intrigue him to roam in the confines of his mind. He likes to GET UP and OUT.
In the early years of our marriage, he would ask, “Do you want to get lost with me?” I used to probe him about our whereabouts, but after thirteen years of marriage, I simply reply, “Yes, let’s get lost.”

I pack the water and snack into our picnic basket. I toss the beach blanket into the back of the truck, and hubby fills the tank with gas. We do not put a destination into our GPS – instead, we drive for miles and hours. We pull over when our soul warrants and walk unchartered paths. I no longer question his whereabouts; he NO longer question the WANDERLUST in me who wants to run through wildflowers.