The urge to travel, to have an adventure, has been fierce recently.
Whether it comes from the bite of routine or the need for a break; the desire for some excitement, or the need for something different to happen, it’s been there, at my back, making me restless.
Sadly a trip isn’t an option just now. So what has been my answer?
I’m reading. I mean seriously reading; not just flicking through a few pages a night after work. In the last week I’ve read seven books in my spare time, after finishing at the office.
After catching up on the last couple of series of True Blood, I’d been sucked back into Bon Temps and the world of Sookie Stackhouse, so I decided to reread a couple of the novels. It made sense to start at the beginning.
Fast forward a week and I’m halfway through the series.
This immersive reading has given my mind the adventure it was craving; the journey to some place far away. I open up a book and I’m not thinking about the mundane of the everyday, I’m in another world.
Even when I’m not reading, when I’m in the office at my desk, I feel half caught up in that world, like the sensation you get when you emerge from a vivid dream and it still feels real.
I know the stories I’m enjoying are fiction. That the people and the places don’t exist, at least not the way they do on the page.
But I can enjoy this feeling, the sleepy embrace of my imagination, as it cushions me from the dull ache of boredom and weariness.
I couldn’t have picked a better week for an intense bout of reading either. Unusually, this summer has mostly been warm and sunny. But this last week has been grey, cool and rainy: distinctly autumnal. It reminds me that favourite time of year is approaching: the time when I can draw the curtains, dim the lights, and curl up on the sofa under a blanket to enjoy a great book.
I can have an adventure anytime, I just have to choose the right book and let my imagination do the rest.