Wanderlust : My Future Journey into Solitude and Soul

Wanderlust : My Future Journey into Solitude and Soul

There are journeys one takes with luggage and maps—and then there are those led by longing and whispers of the soul. As I gaze ahead into the uncertain mist of days to come, a soft, restless call stirs within me. It is not the clamour of cities or the luxury of cruises that beckon me, but the silent poetry of nature—raw, untouched, and profound.

My future travel plan is neither meticulously drawn nor driven by timelines. Rather, it is a pilgrimage to stillness—towards a world untroubled by human haste. I wish to disappear for a while, not to escape life, but to let life, in its primal rhythm, reach me undisturbed.

A Drift Towards the Wild and the Wordless

I dream of walking barefoot on a lonely beach—somewhere where the wind speaks a dialect lost to the civilised ear. No resorts, no beach umbrellas. Just the salt in the air, the wet sand underfoot, and the rhythmic chant of waves writing lullabies to the moon. I will sit beside a driftwood log, sketching thoughts in the air, letting my silence speak louder than a thousand conversations.

And when the sea becomes too loud with emotion, I shall retreat to the hills. Maybe to the stoic Himalayas or the whispering ghats of the South, where clouds descend to rest in your arms like wayward birds. There, among deodar and pine, I hope to find clarity, as sages did, where each sunrise slices through fog like divine revelation.

Or perhaps a wooden hut in a dense forest, where the clock ticks only to the rhythm of bird calls and rustling leaves. I will rise with the sun, sip dew from leaf-tips, and sleep to the lull of crickets. A place where the internet is absent but intuition thrives, where solitude is not loneliness but a sacred companionship.

Philosophy on the Path

Travel, to me, has ceased being a checklist. It is now a ritual of renewal, of returning to the essence from which all meaning springs. In nature’s embrace, I feel the presence of ancient philosophers—the stoics who sought truth in simplicity, the rishis who heard the Vedas in the rustle of winds, and the wanderers who traded comfort for clarity.

There is no greater education than the journey taken alone, armed only with curiosity and conscience. These travels will not be shared on social media; they will be etched in the hollows of my heart, known only to trees, skies, and stars.

A Prayer Draped in Verse

O distant shores of dream and pine,
Where thoughts dissolve and spirits shine,
Prepare a space beneath your sky,
Where wanderers rest and worries die.

I seek no crowd, no golden dome,
But forest trails and ocean foam,
A hut, a fire, a book, a breeze,
And time that flows with ancient ease.

Let thunder roll, let wild winds blow,
My heart shall bloom where soft streams flow,
For every step, though lone and wide,
Is homeward bound, with soul as guide.

So let the world run its course, choked by calendars and careers. I shall find my refuge in the untamed corners of the Earth—where stillness breathes, where the wild welcomes, and where my spirit feels most alive.

One day, when I finally vanish into that dream, I hope not to be found—for I will have found myself!