02 December 2009
When I travel, I feel alive--and I know I'm not alone in feeling this. Traveling brings us squarely to the present and we don't want to leave it. The best travelers among us know that once you get to the destination, you have to put the maps and guidebooks aside and open yourself to the wonders of a place and the gift of universal language. We make new friends, end up getting lost, and everyday is an adventure--the unknown spills out before us and we welcome it wholeheartedly. We open our mouths and let the new experiences wash over us, melting on our tongues like a flaky buttery croissant or an afternoon rainfall. Our hearts burst with gratitude--for life, for ourselves, for the unexpected.
Yet when I come back home, I find it difficult to carry that same enthusiasm to the unknowns in my life. My life stretches out before me in one long yawning road, dim and darkened by my fears and trepidations. Which way will I turn? How will I know what to choose? The decisions and choices before me loom large and unbearable. I wish for the known, I wish that I knew where to turn, that everything was laid out before me and there wouldn't be so many choices.
Last night I took a good look at my best of times (traveling) and my worst of times (stuck in normal life) and I found a point of difference that I could put my finger on and turn around. A question rose: what if I lived my life the way I traveled? I'm going to explore this question and what that looks like in the coming months. I look forward to any insights you may have.