Travel is the ultimate reinforcement on the idea of
mindfulness, of being present in every moment because none of this might happen
again. It’s becoming engrossed with every tree and mountain around me, trying
to memorize each detail, drinking it all in before I pick up and move on.
Eventually it means I forget to even take pictures, because I know that they
never capture what I really feel in that moment. Even if I remembered to
photograph everything I loved, I’m too busy doing new things to go back and
look at them.
Travel is meeting people who I feel I could be best friends
with and then having to say goodbye the very next day as I discover they’re
flying to the next town or out of country. This happens more often than I’d
like it to, and it’s strange that meeting beautiful people can begin to wear on
me. Sometimes it’s becoming incredible friends with them and trying to figure
out how we can ever see each other again, because a few weeks just isn’t enough
with a person.
Travel is falling in love and not knowing if I should tell
the other person, because I don’t want to be the one responsible for changing
their plans or inhibiting their dreams. It’s telling them anyway, because the
risk might be worth it. If things fall through I never have to see them again,
but if I say nothing then I also might never see them again. Travel is deciding
whether I can still hold onto my independence while choosing to start a new
adventure with someone else. It is a whole new level of terrifying, and there
is nothing so far that has prepared me for it.
Travel is pushing new friendships and relationships much
farther and more intensely than they would be in the real world, because
there’s no time to waste. A week in a hostel with a good roommate can make it
seem like we’ve been friends for years. We eat, travel, share, explore, and go everywhere
together. Travelers understand the lives of other travelers, because there’s no
other lifestyle like ours. Our bonds are created quickly as we share tips on
things only other backpackers have experienced – finding jobs where bosses
don’t care if we leave in three weeks, knowing who gives out free food or who
puts on free events, where to get the cheapest and most durable clothing is.
Backpacking is a network, and every person has something to add. On top of the
advice we can offer, we also share everything – clothes, cigarettes, food,
toiletries. We are the best example of a barter system there is.
Travel is missing holidays and special events back home. The
first few are physically heart aching as I try to hold onto my family’s
traditions or the memories of my little loves on their birthdays. It’s
realizing that every time I come home the children will be a little bit older
and will need me a little less. It’s missing the deep, familiar hugs from each
of my family members and the way I never stop laughing when I’m with my girls.
Eventually this will fade as I become comfortable on my own, but my heart will
never stop being full of them.
Travel is seeing things I never knew I was missing out on
and sometimes having no one to share them with. This is not necessarily a bad
thing, as I’m finally beginning to recognize that my emotions and awe need no
validation from anyone else.
Travel is the pinnacle of creativity and resourcefulness. It
is fixing things with poor sewing skills or found pieces of twine. It’s wearing
clothes that are worn so thin that they offer virtually no barrier from the
elements. It is eating pasta or hot
chips 4-5 nights a week, the only variations being foods other backpackers have
left behind. We are poor and nutritionally lacking, but we are never hungry. We
waste as little as possible in every area.
Travel is taking risks that would seem bizarre to anyone
else. It is deciding how to get to a town on the other side of the country as
quickly and cheaply as possible so I can work a job for someone I’ve never met.
It is hitchhiking or deciding if I should buy a car that’s 15+ years old and
hoping it doesn’t break down as we explore a country I’ve never been in. It’s constant
trial-and-error or listening to the advice of well-meaning strangers.
Travel is wondering if I’ll ever settle into a routine that
is more socially acceptable but not particularly wanting to. It’s having to
sacrifice a lot of the stability of a traditional lifestyle, which sounds like
freedom but is still difficult in a whole new way. It’s wondering how aging will affect the
sustainability of what I have going for me now, and it’s scary to think that if
I ever go back I’ll have no marketable skills to offer prospective employers.
It’s constantly being aware that what I have sounds enviable at first but personally
knowing that it’s also a constant struggle with uncertainty and nonstop
transitions. For every new choice I make it’s asking myself, “Is this crazy?”
It’s then answering myself, “What’s so wrong with crazy?” It is hectic, but I
am in love with it.
Travel is exhausting while invigorating parts of my heart I
had forgotten about. I rediscover things about myself I wasn’t sure existed
anymore. I am less physically healthy as I snack on whatever is convenient, but
my mental health has never been better. I am almost always comfortably
satisfied, if not downright happy. Every day presents an infinite amount of
possibilities, and the best part is that nothing ever turns out as expected.
Despite the fact that everything can feel wildly out of control at any given
time, this lifestyle always makes me feel that everything is connected in some
hippie dippy way. If home is where the
heart is, then I have found it; I am always home.
