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Being grateful is hard. Living through the past twenty months, living full stop, is just... A lot. And at the same time nothing. Unemployment. Words like inflation, depression, deficit, budget cuts, pulling up your boot straps... teaching a man to fish. All of these things that add up to me basically never leaving my dads house like. Ever. Boredom is the absolute worst. When nothing happens. When days pass spent bundled in blankets surrounded by sweet wrappers with the sound of the latest hit Netflix show buzzing in my ears as my eyes flicker shut. Weeks can pass like this. It can be hard to stay grounded. It can be really hard sometimes to remember that there is still a lot of good. And a lot to be grateful for. I did a positive psychology course a couple of years ago in my quest to find out what it is, if anything, that I might be interested in.(Historically I've struggled with finding direction a lot.) One of my main takeaways from the course was to practice being grateful for stuff. To sit down at the end of each day and reflect on something I feel good about. Something that fills me with a sense of gratitude and well being. And to write it out. The writing part is important. There's something about holding the pen in your hand, letting the feelings out through the ink and pen scratchings. I don't do that. What I do is every now and again when I feel. Well... Pissed is probably the right word for it. Fuming would also do. When I'm feeling bad and I'm aware enough to actually do something about it instead of watching more TV I'll write a list. I'll head it 'gratitude list' and I'll write twenty or thirty things that are good about my life. And the pen doesn't even get a look anymore. It's all on a notepad on my phone. And it's rushed. (Sure putting that positive psychology knowhow to work.) when I'm struggling sometimes it might start off with something like 'Have roof over my head' and work my way out to other things more personal to me. My dad's nearly always on there, since he was diagnosed with cancer at the end of last year. A lot of the time there's ice cream. Here is the list I wrote today, to keep me grounded. Gratitude list 20/10/2021: 1.Never having to share my bedroom 2.Having privacy/space when I want it 3.Having my own bookcase (with nearly 100 books) 4.Always having books in the house growing up 5.Knowing how to read 6.Being read to by my parents when I was a kid 7.Having a good head on my shoulders 8.Getting to spend quality time with my dad and brother today 9.Having Ice cream in the freezer 10.Having savings 11.Having spare cash 12.The support my dad has recieved since being diagnosed 13.Mum checking up on me 14.How attracted my fiancee is to me 15.My time at CCAD 16.Getting this time with dad 17.My hair 18.The sparrows that live in the roof nextdoor. Bit of an eclectic one today (and there's that ice cream as predicted) and I fell short of the twenty I usually manage, but these are the things that got me through today. And some of them might sound silly but they matter to me. Reading is a big one. My life has always had stories in it. I'm in love with fiction. When I was a teenager I could devour whole books in a day. Get lost somewhere I actually want to be lost in. I fell out of love with reading for a while there, a period of four or five years, starting when I went to art college. I would try to read and I would struggle though ten pages or so before putting the book down. It just wasn't happening for me. I am so grateful that I have been able to find my way back to fiction and that I was led there in the first place when I was small. Books have been a good friend throughout the pandemic. My current companion is Good Omens (one I was read as a kid.My mum has good taste in stories) and it's as good as the first time I read it. Wracking my brains for something, even something small, that gets me through the day gets me though the day. And there have been so many days that have been hard to get through lately. It doesn't feel like it will end. But as long as there's sunshine, cute animal videos and £1 bars of chocolate I will have something to smile about, even if that smile is smaller some days than others. And I can carry them around in my pocket too and look them up on my phone whenever I need reminding that life isn't too bad, even when it's really bad.

I'm that person who plans the next trip before the current one is over. Not the most budget-friendly habit. Or the healthiest. I started asking, “Is that kind of wanderlust sustainable? Can it really make me happy?” I started looking for another way to treat my travel bug, another way to travel, another way to find what I've been looking for. Wanderlust is never satisfied. New places are like new clothes, one more never makes the collection complete. So I haven't stopped traveling, I've just decided to travel more ...at home. I've had the adventure of making my home in several “touristy” places like New York City, Miami Beach, and Anchorage, Alaska – places that shout “I'm supposed to be explored!” But I've also lived in some quite non-touristy places, like Jundiai, Brazil and Tallahassee, Florida, and found that those places were inviting me to explore too. One habit I've adapted is taking pictures of my own city. Documenting my home and gathering stories makes me feel like I'm on a treasure hunt. Gathering stories can mean journaling a conversation overheard at a coffee shop, snapping street art, adding my neighbors to my novel, or vowing to never forget the inspiring art lady who gave me a free painting at the farmers market. I don't need another continent to do this. Once I get the pictures (and the occasional free painting) from my current home city, I like framing them on the wall next to waterfalls in Iceland or hot air balloons in Myanmar. It's a way of saying “this experience is just as cool, just as formative, just as special.” Exploring at home doesn't make my world smaller, but bigger. Exploring requires a kind of mindset, not a kind of destination. Destinations can sometimes limit what you find, which reminds me of an important part of traveling at home – getting lost. When I lived in New York City and needed “an escape,” my favorite thing to do was let my phone die. Then I was forced to really wander. I found some of my favorite coffee shops that way. Sometimes I charged my phone there, sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I just pretended my phone was dead. I wouldn't listen to a podcast if I was taking the tube in London for the first time, so why not take out my earbuds on my daily commute now and then? Earbuds out turned into conversations with other fellow travelers on their way to work. I love asking questions about why people live in my home cities. “What brought you to New York?” is a classic with some surprisingly un-cliché answers. And I also liked, “Is it different than you expected?” “How are you and New York getting along?” One time my friend answered, “Living in New York is like being in a relationship – you're either in an argument or you're at peace.” These questions led to stories of disenchantment, reconciliation, falling in and out of love with the place we called home. Breaking up or making it work. A few years later I was replacing New York with Miami and found the answers just as interesting, answers like: “It's the rawest place I've ever lived.” “It feels like another country to me.” “People always told me I'd stop getting excited about seeing the ocean but it hasn't happened.” “It's breaking my heart.” These were more fulfilling conversations than talking about all the places I hadn't been because I resonated with something shared. Part of the reason I love traveling is coming back with stories. There's something so human about telling stories. It's a way of saying we are alive, we are making a presence on this earth and this is how. I love bringing stories home, and I also love when they bring me closer to home. Stories can come from locals or tourists. As a mostly-pedestrian in New York and South Beach, I found this energizing joy in engaging with tourists. Some of my favorite stories are from helping tourists find their way. It reminds me of how sometimes I still get lost. I imagined I was a link between them and their bucket lists, their high hopes. “Which way is the beach?” just reminded me that we're all just looking for the beach. I reoriented their sense of direction, but they did the same for me. I'll never forget a boy who was about eight emerging from the 34th street subway station and shouting “Look, it's the Empire State Building! We're in New YORK!” It was about 30 degrees and I was carrying about 31 pounds of Trader Joe's, but I stopped being grumpy. Yeah, we were in New York. I want to challenge the idea that adventure is “out there.” Home doesn't have to mean standing still. Home doesn't have to be an interim between adventures. Home can be the biggest trip you'll ever take. And one you can always go back to. Adventure is right here. I'm still almost always planning (or at least dreaming about) the next time I will hop in a plane with my passport. But what I've realized is that traveling and exploring can be a lifestyle, not a series of events. It can be a way of thinking. Home can be a place where wanderlust and contentment meet.