it’s not wanderlust 

I couldn’t sleep last night. 

I was stuck in this weird limbo of being too exhausted to write but too wired to dream. Next to me, my fiancés chest roared lightly with a rhythmic snore, my dogs warm fur separating us. I couldn’t help but smile as I let myself appreciate the moment.

As I lay there in a hazy bliss, I thought long and hard about my life …and about the travelingfig. What the site means to me, and why I write. And while I tried to figure it all out I found myself writing the story of me in my head… An autobiography if you will.

It wasn’t long until I was fast asleep, dreaming in colorful adventures. But when I awoke, I was struck with a line from the previous nights string of thoughts… And like always, felt compelled to share.

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