Wanderlust
The first time I ever heard the phrase “wanderlust”, I immediately thought that it was a sickness. Some disease that people contracted through exposure to some element and was incredibly gruesome. It was life-ending, in the same way that masturbating in-between meetings and getting caught is. Exhilarating, filled with titillating fear, possibly euphoric, and if you get caught by your boss, career ruining. I also knew that I had it.
Now, I don’t mean this in the same way that my minor hypochondria makes me think that I’ve contracted the non-existant Ploxodisium syndrome. I mean that when I heard the word, there was an almost prescient knowledge of it’s meaning and my deep understanding that I knew what it was. And while hearing the phrase made me better understand myself, I needed to hear it before I knew that I could identify myself (or that I could use it to identify a part of myself) underneath it. I need that connection again to explain my hunger for the entire planet.
In talking with my friend Stefanie, we came to understand that we both “want everything, no?” That is to say, we have an unquenchable desire to make goals and plans and strive for just about anything that we can imagine. Whether it’s our first-generation upbringing, our Latino heritage or whatever it may be, we both have it and are at its whim. However, having it’s definition doesn’t help without having it’s name. What would the name of the desire to be everything, or I suppose, the desire to dream of everything come from? It feels at times as though we would simply devour the world if we could. As if take in all the dirt, salty water and air would create the realization we’ve been going after.
However, if I have learned anything from philosophy, it is this: the problem with desire is that it only exists in the action of wanting. A person does not, cannot, desire what they already want. What could possibly satiate us after devouring an entire planet? Perhaps we’d simply move on to more heavenly bodies. Dibs on Jupiter.
- Spider