Every once in a while, my wife and I load up our car with a bunch of junk, our girls go to the bathroom one more time, and then we all drive away.
We forget about our book reports and our morning commutes and search for new stories to tell. We find sea urchins under rocks and rub our hands along mossy tree trunks. We have contests to see who can spot the most deer. We watch the sun go down behind mountains that were our playground only a few hours before. We swim in oceans, lakes, rivers, creeks, ponds, streams, bays, springs, and occasionally... swimming pools. We cook our own food under the stars and agree that nothing has ever tasted better. We tromp along trails in every setting imaginable. We fall asleep with cicadas and wake up with songbirds. We stub our toes and scratch our bug bites and cry when it rains and then laugh about it and keep on going. We see brand new things. We walk unknown paths.
Eventually, we pack up and come home, a little sad, but more alive than we were before. Our spirits are stronger. The memories, new and exciting, burn in our brains and spill out of our mouths to anyone that will listen.
Underneath it all...the itch.
To go again. To experience more. To find something else we didn't know existed.
Time passes. Life happens, as it does. We return to work, which has many definitions. Home and family and community are sweet and familiar and comforting.
But the itch is still there.
And before too long...we scratch it.