The Truth About Nostalgia

Budapest, Hungary (Photo creds: Laura Branson)

When nostalgia hits, it hits you hard, like a ton of bricks. It’s almost painful, in the most poetic way. I welcome the nostalgia, but it doesn’t make my days any easier. I think I’ve honestly forgotten what it feels like to not be craving travel. There’s nothing like being in a foreign country, hanging out with foreign people, eating foreign foods, and making memories that you KNOW will last a lifetime.

I live in beautiful Santa Barbara, in the college town know as Isla Vista. Isla Vista is nothing if it isn’t a fun party. But I would give it all up to be in Budapest, or in Ios, or anywhere outside of the United States really. I’d be lying if I said I’m not constantly tempted to say “fuck it,” drop out of school, and book a one way ticket to pretty much anywhere. Not a single day goes by that I don’t look through my phone at some photos of my past travels. I’m literally lusting to wander. When I was 16, and I started getting interested in the idea of traveling and seeing the world, I thought I understood wanderlust. Oh how naive I was. THIS is wanderlust. This constant nagging desperation to be somewhere else. Like I said, it’s almost painful. But I love this feeling. This feeling is my motivation.

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