Our earliest human ancestors were nomads. A changing climate and erratic food supply forced them to wander vast expanses of shifting continents. Over the long arc of time, they adapted and evolved on the journey. Some groups of people in the modern world still undertake long migrations for reasons of survival or culture. Some of us are fairly secure in our physical needs, and live in a culture that tells us to settle down, cling to good fortune, and accumulate. Yet the call to wander remains. Sometimes wandering is a necessity; sometimes it is a privilege.

Perhaps this compulsion is preserved in some ancient bit of DNA, a wandering gene passed down from ancestors driven by hunger, securing the survival of a species. Or maybe some of those ancient relatives, their bones and footprints scattered around the globe, continued to wander simply because they enjoyed the view. There is nothing safe about wandering. The ancient compulsion to set off on a journey, whether searching for a better water supply or just a different view, was just as likely to lead to a den of carnivores as the Garden of Eden. Perhaps this wandering “gene” is not really protective at all. In modern society we have recognized (and magnified) the dangers of drifting, devising every manner of gadget, structure, and schedule to prevent us from inadvertently losing ourselves. Wanderers are met with raised eyebrows, if not outright suspicion, whether veering off a paved and well-marked road, or quietly exploring a lesser known and questionable branch of the “Path of Success.”

Tolkien poetically declared that “Not all those who wander are lost.” Some who wander may in fact be lost, but perhaps contentedly so. There are those who sojourn far from home, while others meander in the marvelous forest of daydream and music and story. Occasionally we drift far from the original course of our lives, to great benefit or immense risk.