Stirring Point

This piece is a short meditation on travel.

I want real travel to give me a fat lip. Like a stiff jab from a blind angle, I want to feel it land and eat the punch. I don’t mean vacations. I’m not claiming all the time. But a hard-nosed wander through foreign terrain? A dust-kicking tramp to the earth’s far corners? This is what I need. I want to see the scars of travel on my face when I look in the mirror. I need a guarantee that my life will never be the same. The poverty, the tyranny, the grandeur and the grace. I want to tumble from the edge of comfort and count the seconds while I drop.

I want travel to catch me off-guard, rock my foundations and upend my beliefs. I want the mallet of confusion to land against my chest and steal my air. I want travel to starve my mind of excess and force me into a ketotic state. I want its almighty clarity—its pure luminescence.

Let me be the odd man out—the transient spectacle—the elephant in the room. Let me plant my feet where I’m unsure they belong and start moving again before I get comfortable. Let the sweat on my neck seep into my collar while the straps on my duffle dig into my shoulders. Let me ache; let me groan. Let the world stare as I pass through its doors.

20 years ago, a blanket and a dry patch of earth were enough. I’m soft now and I need to strip the varnish of comfort. Too much stuff, too many expectations, too easily disappointed. Heat, cold and exhaustion are passing states of being. Accept them. Seek them. Embrace their embrace. Trust endurance and follow it to the edge. Adapt. Be flexible. Flow, like water, and fill the space before you.

To hell with the creature comforts. To hell with western standards. The only “musts” are safety from real harm and staying alive. Comfort is not a must; it’s a bonus.

I’ve watched a thousand sunsets fade to night on foreign soil. I hope to see a thousand more. I aim to earn each one by traveling with my eyes open to the world as it is—not the way I prefer it to be.