I am one of those who was born with a wanderlust, a malcontent hunger which has yet to be sated. One would think of such a person that he (she) would have departed at a young age to trek the world to explore distant regions and collect curious artifacts, and if I were male, I may have done so.
But being female, I knew it was not practical to embark upon such an unconventional course alone. So, I have traveled some, and have been a mental traveler for all the rest.
Of course, I want books - more books than I have space to own - I want a personal library to rival the meager collection I have thus far managed to amass. I want old an rare and out of print. I want lush gardens and a fountain and trees and paths and a studio and a parlour. A room for breakfast and a room for tea by the fire.
I want Persian rugs and Parisian art and tapestries and linens and a bed of mahogany with draperies of the finest silk. Guest rooms and hidden passages and servants' quarters and a kitchen the envy of any chef.
I want to always be able to come to my home after many months away and it will all be there waiting for me - each time just as I left it before and it will always carry the scent of home which I remember well. But I shan't be there often because I will be off wandering with my love. I want for my children languages and a thirst for knowledge.
That was written by my earlier self on a scrappy journal some years ago. As I age, my wants have changed somewhat, and I find that I yearn for a more simple pastoral existence. I still want to travel, but I would now be just as happy with a maple or pine bedframe, sans draperies, and a rustic cabin lacking servants' quarters or hidden passages. I am happy with the art of my children and the creations of my own hands. I still want the books, the fire, the tea, and the gardens. And trees! Fig, peach, pear, apple, almond, lemon, orange, and black walnut.
It is true that I was born malcontent with the ordinary and mundane. I will never be completely happy trading my time for wages in the business of another, though for now I am thankful to have the opportunity.
In the end, I still want to be autonomous and of independent means. My material wants are much more humble than they once were because I know that material goods are not where meaning originates, but my desire to own all the minutes of my existence remains. Continuing my quest on that weed-strewn path...