. . . Eventually

A love letter to my feet:

The first time I woke up in a bed not knowing where I was, it was disorienting. It was dark and I didn't know which side the wall was and I went to sit up and slammed my head on the low ceiling.

Now, there are more mornings where I don't know where I am than when I do. I've learned to grope carefully for my glasses and headlamp before moving. Reaching gently through the dark. I learned to take an extra breath before sitting up. To orient where my feet are, where my head is, where the nearest hard wall is.

Wanderlust is like the ugliest part of love and the most beautiful part of devastation met in a bar one night. They danced all the slow dances and held hands under oily street lights. They went home together but neither stayed the night.

From the time that I learned to run I learned to depend on my feet. I could beat all the boys in my fifth grade class in a foot race. My mom and I would go running and talk about life. My dad and I would toss a frisbee around the backyard,  and I would chase it down, watching it until it was firmly in both hands.

The summer before my first year of highschool I went backpacking. Day after day I walked on my own legs, carrying my life with me on my back. I was often tired. But I was never lonely.

Wanderlust is a feeling in my chest. Like my lungs are simultaneously empty and filled to bursting. It's the feeling where I'm so hungry I'm in tears but I don't know what I want to eat.

In college I won the "most likely to be barefoot" superlative. When I accepted the prize I was barefoot. Two weeks later, when I graduated, I got walked down the aisle barefoot. The grass caressed my feet and whispered congratulations.

The barista at starbucks says "it's like you brought all the dirt with ya" and I look down at my feet and smile, pleased someone noticed although the barista is talking to a young woman on the other side of the shop.

Wanderlust is the trail of the "keep in touch" platitudes I leave behind me, kicking them up like dust on a dirt road. Wanderlust is collecting facebook friends like post cards. They look nice, but will probably just take up space on your parents' fridge for a few years until the next postcard comes.

I started running every day in my freshman year of college.  Every morning before classes I would walk out my door and slap my feet against the unforgiving pavement for an hour until I felt grounded enough to go about my day.

In the summer when I run I see iridescent cicadas and graceful snakes warming themselves in the pavement. I have to leave early in the morning to beat the heat and the birds almost invariably sing me along.