Wanderlust

As I said yesterday, having been itinerant for many years (this is my tenth home - an average of about five years in each [but that's a bit false, as I lived from the age of 2 to 22 in the same place - ignoring that period, it's more like 3 years in any one house]) I'm finding it hard to believe that this will be the place where I shall live for the rest of my life (which would be somewhere between 14 years if I die at the same age as my father, or 40 years if I live as long as my maternal grandmother [or about six months if I keep burning the candle at both ends as I am at the moment, having fun, fun, fun {but I suspect it's going to be more pleasurable burning out than waiting to wear out}]).

Don't get me wrong, it's a nice enough house, and I'm lucky to have it (on a long-term tenancy, and at a reasonable rent that I can just about afford).

But it's not my dream house (which would be a little larger inside, and more importantly have views of open, rolling [or even better, mountainous - but that's a bit unlikely in East Angular, I realise] countryside, and perhaps a river estuary within sight).

I also can't really believe this early retirement is going to last until I reach the age of 65 (which is still a very long way off). I feel sure I shall be returning to full-time work before then - and thus moving on again.

Never satisfied, I'm afraid.

Wanderlust, interestingly (my title today, if you didn't notice) is a word we've inherited from the German (wandern [to hike] and lust [desire]), although in Germany itself the term has become somewhat obsolete. A more contemporary equivalent for the English wanderlust, in the sense of 'love of travel' would be Fernweh (literally 'an ache for the distance').

I ache for the distant. Oh yes.