Inquietud.

Are you ever overcome by moments of restlessness? The word for it in Spanish is inquietud. This feeling of restlessness, it hits me especially hard while traveling. I don’t become melancholy as the plane takes off and I watch dreary Warwick get smaller and smaller (I mostly beg the universe for no turbulence but does she ever listen?). You don’t notice how dull home can be until you’re descending into Rionegro, D.C., or Oakland and your destination reveals itself in all of its busy, lit, and endless splendor. Oh my god, the bright lights and see-through waters are beautiful. You can’t help but be a little nervous, for who knows what you’ll find?

I sometimes have to be reminded to get in touch with everyone back home (unless you have Whatsapp or can text, you’ve left me with no choice!). A little sadness starts to kick in on the second to last night of my trip and I think about losing my ID so I can’t travel. Traveling means I will inevitably have to say “see ya later, I’ll be back!” to people I love, my maleta stuffed with new crystals and leather shoes, and that adds to the little puff of sadness in my chest. It’s not that I don’t want to go back home; I love my cozy ass home with silly nephews and I dare anyone to say that a New England autumn isn’t breathtaking. It’s just that I don’t want to leave this new place. Know what I mean?

Other than my huge and amazing family/friends, there’s nothing in Rhode Island for me. Nothing tethers or binds me here, only loyalty and fear of the unknown. It kinda lost its shine once I realized that the world was so much bigger than one square mile. Yesterday, as I shared my recent D.C adventures, I had a slip of the tongue and said to my coworker, “Nothing here excites me anymore.” For the rest of the day, I wondered: is it sad that I feel that way?

The more I think about it, the more I decide that NO, it’s not sad to be bored of the place you’ve lived in for over three decades. It’s human nature to want to shake things up every now and again. It’s okay to acknowledge that things have gotten staler than an old caesar salad and that you have an itching to discover new things. I know I am not the only one that feels like there’s a place out in the world just waiting for me to claim it. I can feel it.

My cousin once advised me to “just jump.” JUST jump? ‘Ta loca, I thought. But that conversation always manages to worm its way into my psyche because it proves that there is, in fact, a very easy fix to inquietud. You just have to jump.

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