When Your Wanderlust Soul Takes A Rest


I recently chose a weekend trip out of town over an urge to pack everything up and move to a new place.

Stop the train right now – that is some serious stuff in my world.

You see; I’ve had the wanderlust bug in me most of my life. I get all whimsical thinking of my next gypsy stroll, sweet temporary quarters and then my crazy-ass actually (90% of the time) does it.

I move. I move again. I move back. Rinse. Repeat.

Rarely in one place too long, I love not knowing where I’m headed. That was my life for a long time, but having a family makes being a feather in the wind not so much about me anymore; I’m bringing everyone along for my soul’s journey. And I had to do some deep sea soul diving to merge those two worlds.

Even being married for almost six years now + experiencing life with a fierce four-year old, I still have tendencies to consider myself first and foremost (thankfully, my hubs is quick to remind me there is more than one person in this family). Score for cosmic bitch-slappers!


After road-tripping through New Mexico, Las Vegas and finally moving to Santa Barbara, CA w/ sprees to Colorado, Memphis – we eventually moved back home to Colorado just in time to ring in 2014.

The time that passed since has been one of healing.

And not just the type of healing that occurs when you stop bleeding, or the scars fade – a healing several dimensions deep – one where you + your soul are no longer the same. 


I feel as though I have been in my own self-directed program of Travel Recovery. Vacillating between intense desires to stay home + not go any place that is more than 10 minutes away – to recently, waking up to a pulse in my soul to spread my wings again.

It’s when I felt that pounding pulse knocking on my wanderlust soul that I felt like…shrinking.

Why shrinking? Because it scared the shit out of me – I knew I wasn’t the “old” Keli that would pack up everything and leave everyone in the dust, but I also knew for me to flourish, I had to explore this heart tug. I was almost afraid of the exploration, but I knew I had to go there.

So, explore I did.


I spoke my feelings out loud with the hubs + friends and I also went inward – I got really comfortable with the uncomfortable feelings of where I was sitting – even, when I felt like I had no idea what the hell I was doing.

What eventually erupted was a sense of GROWTH. And I use growth in caps because that place isn’t always pretty, but you know you’ve grown when you can sit in IT, feel IT, roll around in IT + know you will be a “better” version of YOU on the other side of all the murkiness of the moment. You go there – with unease, confusion and a set of balls to walk through the beautiful mess.


I am fresh off of a weekend trip out of town – I chose to experiment with a spurt of travel out of town over a dumping of all my material possessions for a backpack and an open road. I told myself ‘try this first + we will go from there. No future-trippin’, sister.’

I feel like I’ve grown. I feel filled up. I feel well, more like “me”.


So, when your husband tells you (like three years ago when you are throwing an adult, rebel-heart tantrum over his resistance to packing up everything and moving), “Hon, you just need to travel more. You love coming home. You don’t have to move everywhere you want to travel.” And you laugh in his face + keep stomping your feet – potentially be ready to eat your words. Because growth hurts so good sometimes.



Love + Eating My Words,


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