I hear a lot about the benefits of travelling the world, from blogs and books and good friends who love to travel. It looks and sounds like they really love it, which is awesome to watch. Even more of my friends are moving to Seattle and other larger, sometimes far-away cities from the significantly smaller (but still much larger than my former home of Sequim) town of Bellingham. I understand where they’re coming from, too. There’s more stuff happening out there. People want to see what the rest of the world has to offer. I don’t deny that by doing that they’re getting something that I probably won’t staying here.

But I also think there’s something to be said in finding happiness exactly where you are, in really, truly getting to know your own area and finding comfort there, in becoming a long-lasting part of a community, letting your roots run deep into it. I think it goes beyond just staying where you happen to feel safe and comfortable, although that certainly is admittedly part of it. Staying in one place for awhile and letting yourself become a part of a place is a different kind of pleasure, I think, than that of the traveler.

I don’t mean to say that one way is any better than the other. I would definitely like to visit other places, but I wouldn’t call what I feel “wanderlust.” And if you feel that strong urge, and especially if you act on it, good on you. That’s great. I just… don’t feel that urge. And the longer I stay where I am, the happier I realize I am right here, sinking my roots into this fertile soil.