I must confess. There’s something I’m addicted to and it’s not cupcakes. Though, it is something I have an insatiable appetite for. Can you guess what it is? I’ll give you a clue…

I confess. I'm addicted to novelty. Yep. It’s novelty. Whether my Air Force brat upbringing is to blame — or credit — or my short attention span that doesn’t allow me to do any one thing longer than four hours (yes, I have a limit — I’ve tested it many times), I find that after about six months in one place, I’m ready to hit the road, Jackie O.


Vintage suitcase.


And this past year of living out of a carry-on suitcase has just proven that what I want is to not settle down in one spot for too long. When asked where I want to live, my usual reply is that I’d love to be bi-coastal (New York and LA — or Marfa, most likely). Or bi-continental (North America and Asia, perhaps, but don’t hold me to it). As long as I don’t have to choose. Choosing feels way too permanent. Way too…official. Way too like I might be missing out on something.



Japan's pedal-powered roller coaster!


When many of my friends are buying homes and settling down, I find myself fantasizing about picnicking in Paris and getting lost in a maze in Italy. And I’m still jonesing to ride this roller coaster in Japan. What can I say? I’m stimulated by new places, new faces, new experiences, surprises and being in motion. My mother is baffled by the idea that I love being on airplanes (am I the only one who finds them oddly soothing?).


Feet and fall in New York


Fortunately, Dear Hubs is as much of a novelty addict as I am. Our running joke is the only thing we can commit to is each other (thank the Big Guy in the Sky for small favors). The idea of returning to the storage unit that holds my life — our life — is one I’m avoiding like bathing suit shopping in December (far worse than the plague). Which is entrenched in irony, considering I’m an interior design junkie who writes about stuff — gorgeous, playful, wonderful stuff — I covet daily.


Vagabond. El Cosmico. Marfa, Texas.


But, it’s scarily simple to be homeless rent nicely furnished homes and to never have to unpack more than one bag (that is if the redonkulous four-lettter word that is govt keeps their paws off of my beloved HomeAway). And I’m afraid that’s the way I like it. I’m sure F. Scott Fitzgerald and Dr. Phil (because they’re obviously in the same category) could have a field day (we all know how helpful he was was with Britney), but if you can swing it and it’s what you enjoy, I don’t see a problem. In fact, if there’s one thing I’ve really learned this past year, it’s that destinations and goals are really no fun at all — the interesting, thrilling part is trying to get to them. Once you’ve reached them, well, if you’re anything like me, you enjoy them for a bit, but then it’s time for the next <insert fantasy here>.



How about you? Do you like to stay put and nest or hit the road, Jack Kerouac? Do you get bored easily? If you could live anywhere(s), where would it be? Please share below, I’d love to know…

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