On Being A Homebody With A Travel Bug

On Being A Homebody With A Travel Bug

Travelling to new places versus living in them is as different as Chardonnay and Moscato.

Olivia Ducharme

One day last summer my baby sister looked at me and said "Olivia, you are such a homebody!" in an accusatory voice. I had been away from my own bed, my dog, and my boyfriend for 10 days, so I had mentioned being homesick while we were in Tennessee. It's not as though I had said the trip was awful or that I wasn't having a wonderful time, I just offhandedly mentioned being ready to head home. I felt hurt that my attachment to my home was considered a bad quality. My other sister glanced at her and said "And what exactly is wrong with that? She just enjoys being home." That was when it hit me; as much as I love travelling I always need a solid foundation to return to.

In today's world, the idea of wanderlust is far more popular than admitting to wanting to be home, especially among millennials. At 22 I'm an outcast who enjoys living in her mothers house, but honestly I can't imagine living far away from her again. I live with her, my grandparents, and my youngest sister, and we have been incredibly close with one another since my father passed away. My living at home rather than getting an apartment was a decision I made on my own. I'm not sure if it was the clinical depression that knocked me down 2 years ago or the fact that tragedy hit my family but I became even more of a homebody than I had ever been before as I entered my 20's.

New York, Sacramento, Baltimore, D.C., Sienna, Firenze, San Francisco... the list goes on of the places I have visited time and time again. In fact two days after returning home from Tennessee this summer, I jumped into the car for a 5 day trip to the bay area. To say my homebody-ness limits my travel is like saying Chardonnay and Moscato are the same type of wine because they are both whites. The place I live in is a far different feeling than the places I travel to.

I used to live about 400 miles from my hometown for college, and I had never been more miserable in my life. I would call my mom constantly, and stare at photos of my favorite spots in Southern California. Then I'd try to find the same kind of things in my new city. Coffee houses, sunsets, and a group of friends that I could rely on. I never managed to get to the comfort level I have now in my own home. I think that was the issue; school was never home for me.

But people confuse that a lot, that I was upset with being away from home, therefore I must hate traveling. Truthfully I love going to the airport, I love seeing the requests off from work for my next adventure, and I love the chance to go gain new experiences. The desire to travel is far different from living far from one's hometown and family, and I will continue jet setting around but I doubt I'll ever live too far from Southern California.

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