travel

Let’s talk about homesickness…

Do you ever get that slightly off kilter feeling? That feeling that everything’s not quite right. It’s the kind of Sunday night feeling that you just don’t want to be in this place and time?

Don’t get me wrong I completely and utterly adore New Zealand. Every corner you turn there’s yet another beautiful sight. I have had some of the best belly ache laughs in the best company and seen spectacular sights, and believe me, I know how insanely lucky I am to be having this non stop adventure, but very occasionally, I want to go home.

Inevitably homesickness is a part of travelling. Going off to explore new places and meet new people means leaving the familiar places and people behind and that’s sad, there’s no point pretending it isn’t. Yet in this day of internet and data and WiFi I can talk to my family every week, I can message my sister and my friends almost everyday, I can constantly see updates of what’s happening at home and if I’m really lucky I can get a care package of twiglets and Yorkshire teabags sent out to me. Life on the other side of the world isn’t so far away as it once was.

Homesickness is a weird and complicated one for me, I don’t particularly have a home. After my mummy died and we sold our childhood home, going home for me is either staying with a friend for a few days in Yorkshire or staying at my grandparents house. And the homesickness that hits is for a home that doesn’t exist and that can pack a pretty powerful punch, even when surrounded by great new friends in a place I love. I found myself mid ski season ridiculously ill, and I mean running a high fever, ill enough to call into work for only the fifth time in my fourteen years of working, howling on the floor of my room at the lodge and very much miserably home sick. And then one of those great new friends rocked up and with a drive to town for lemsip supplies and McDonald’s and some good company, I was reminded how much I’d rather be there with him, sick as I was, than back in England because for that moment in time that was my home. For me I suppose, until I decide to put down roots, travelling is my home and I may need a little reminding sometimes and a little help being picked back up of the floor, but I freaking love it.

So I can take a few wobbly moments and the occasional tearful outburst and the overwhelming longing for my gran’s spaghetti bolagnaise if it means I get to live this adventure. If I get to meet these people. If I get to have these experiences. If I get to make temporary homes all over the globe. There will always always be rough patches, that’s life generally I guess. As amazing as it may seem on Instagram travelling ain’t always that rosey but it is fucking fantastic.

So my friends however hard it hits you and in whichever way shape or form it comes, ride that homesickness through because as quick as it comes it will go, and then just fucking enjoy the adventure!

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