For some reason I am finding it harder and harder to drag myself away from my life to go on a trip…any trip at all.
Please note too, that this blog is supposedly about traveling. To that end, the above statement could prove to be problematic.
I spent the last few days before my departure doing some major inner whinging about why I should stay home. We have, after all, listed our apartment for sale and are actively looking at downsizing and changing our lives in a not-insubstantial way. That involves a little editing and some consideration. I also keep talking about doing some serious writing…but I never seem to stick around long enough to get into a routine to make it happen. For these reasons and others I couldn’t think of, I was sure I should just cancel this trip and, in fact, any and all trips.
Even while I was waiting at my gate in the Vancouver airport, I was feeling resistant to the whole plan. Then I entered that queer wrinkle in time and there was no more time to think. Instead, I was in that airspace purgatory where clocks spin backward and melt, Dali-like, into strange configurations that cease to have any meaning.
By the time I landed in New York, after a brief stop in Toronto, and then hung suspended and dozing over the Atlantic until Johannesburg, and then, finally, once I’d changed to the final plane and found myself deposited in the lucsious greenness of the Durban landscape, then and only then, did I remember; I love traveling.
I have that slightly dopey-drunk feeling from a body that isn’t quite sure what happened in the last 48 (?) hours. I am writing this post while ensconsed in a crisp blue and white shuttered room that hangs over the beach. There is a white and red lighthouse directly to my left. The surf is crashing in that infinitely relaxing way that only ocean waves can, and I am happy to be here in the beautiful Oyster Box Hotel. The whole place is exquisite.
So why on earth was it so hard to imagine a different possibility than the one I was living?
I need to remember this.
I need to remember that there is always a much different world outside of whatever I am currently inhabiting and that these worlds don’t have to be mutually exclusive. I can live a little of this new life, and still come home and deal with whatever needs to be done.
Life is meant to be a little messy, to have that lived-in look. It is not meant to be perpetually packed up and tidily organized. Shifting perspective is a good thing.
I am going to walk on the beach now. In South Africa. I traveled a long long time to get here…just long enough to change my thinking.
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OMG, I just noticed Oyster Box is a member of the Red Carnation Hotel Collection – you may never want to leave. I stayed at their Egerton House Hotel in London and still sigh thinking about it.
Michele, the Oyster Box was divine, absolutely, utterly and completely divine. Right down to the crispest sheets I’ve ever slept on and a gorgeous red & white designed cotton robe that had me swanning about the room in a most fabulous way. There wasn’t a detail that was missed in that place. I did not want to leave either.
I know exactly what you mean, Colleen as I have exactly the same feeling before leaving my house though I absolutely love travelling. It always bring me new enrichment and lovely memories and when I come back home I see things differently. Travel can only be a source of richness. I would agree with the other lady, I think it must be an age thing as we feel more anchored in our ways, more rooted in a way.
Enjoy South Africa, I have heard it is very beautiful.
Catherine, it’s strange how I know all those things about travel too, yet when it was time to leave, I could only think of those thinks on an intellectual level. But now that I’m here, I’m back to remembering and experiencing it on a physical level too. Walking through the Victoria Market in Durban, seeing all the bark and animal bones used for medicine is definitely a visceral experience 🙂
Colleen, I really understand this. In February, my best friend and I were on our way to Chicago for a 4 day visit. As we taxied on the runway, I turned to her and said, “I can’t wait to be home.” I finally decided that my travel muscle has gotten flabby. More travel builds more confidence in the ability to flex, to flow, to find one’s way around. More time away reassures one that everything will be okay when one returns. More practice at enjoying wonderful new things causes more anticipation and enthusiasm for enjoying new things. Who knew that traveling takes practice?? Might be an aging thing. . . sigh.
“More travel builds more confidence in the ability to flex, to flow, to find one’s way around. More time away reassures one that everything will be okay when one returns. More practice at enjoying wonderful new things causes more anticipation and enthusiasm for enjoying new things. Who knew that traveling takes practice?” Love that Jana!
You’re right. It’s a muscle. And even though I seem to do it quite a bit, it takes more each time to peel me off my piece of the rock. But every time I do…I love it. My husband said to me the day before I left, “You know you’re going to love it as soon as you’re there. You’ll start having new experiences, seeing new things and you’ll have a great time.” How’d he know? Oh wait. It’s because I say this every time, though lately it’s definitely ramped up.
I fear you might be right that it’s an aging thing…and if that’s the reason, then it’s even more important to keep pushing it. Between travel, downward dogs and healthy food, I just might keep kickin’!