“We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again- to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more.” Pico Iyer
If I had a cat for every time I was asked this question, I would definitely be one of those crazy cat ladies.
Why do I travel? Why do thousands of people uproot their lives to find themselves halfway across the world? I have met dozens of travel-holics...people who work hard for months, until they have enough money to buy a plane ticket and go. I know people that have been living out of the same backpacks for years, packing the same panierres every day, losing themselves in a different country and a different culture more than anybody should have the opportunity to do in a lifetime. And how is it, when we are traveling in a country with millions of people, and constantly running into hundreds of travelers, that we can feel so alone?
I have high mountains in my backyard, along with deep canyons, roaring rivers, dark skies. So before I can know where I am going, I should ask myself, why am I going?
My parents introduced me to travel at a young age, and I am thankful for that. As a girl I remember playing in the colorful celebrations of death in Mexico's streets, being the only girl in a game of soccer in an Italian alleyway, riding horses over mountain passes and across rivers with nobody for hundreds of miles, and most of all, listening to stories of much and more and wanting so badly to know.
I know that it sounds splendid. Pick up and go every few months. Pare down the possessions and simplify. See new things, meet new people, don't let your roots get too familiar with the ground, or they might start to sink in. And when they do, be bold enough to tear them out, leaving some fragments, but not much more evidence that you were even there.
I have seen a blood red sunrise on a glacier lake beneath the shadow of New Zealand's southern alps. My travels have brought me into secret canyons with sacred waterfalls where you can still see tribes panning for gold in the Amazon tributaries. I have spent many a night under southern skies, trying to puzzle together the once familiar constellations. Other nights I've danced on thousand year old cobble streets drunk on adventure and mystery and youth. I have spent my days bush bashing through jungles, the australian outback, southwestern and northwestern deserts, and volcanic peaks on three different continents; unraveling the secrets of billion year old rocks.
So as I sit in a cafe, in a small town in Idaho, I am forced to think about what is next. I don't know where I am going, and that is so scary. Ironically, I think that is part of why I travel. At least I'm going somewhere.