The Wanderer bursts its chains from the sheer pressure of being held captive and explodes beneath the surface in hot waves of longing that crash over my head again and again, refusing to let me gasp a breath for fear that I’ll shove it back into its box – it has to escape.
“No, really! A katana-wielding bugbear. Bestseller!”
Masters of leaving hide their need for fear of being rejected because the leaving is underpinned by a deep craving for roots. We leave because we’re searching for the perfect place to thrive continuously, without someday needing to pack up and look elsewhere.