Finding My Fix: Chronicles of a Travel Junkie

A lot of people have told me over the past year just how jealous, envious, proud of me, inspired by me they are for doing the whole travel thing, going out on my own to the other side of the world, actually getting off my butt and following my dream.  As great as it makes me feel to know that I am inspiring people, giving them reason to travel, to be proud of me, reason to be proud of myself, not one of those congratulatory, awe-filled comments meant half so much at the time it was uttered as a few I got tonight.  Maybe it’s because it’s midnight and I’m dog tired after a day of working, practicing guitar, reporting, playing cards and eating Lo Mein, but I think it’s because even a born nomad needs to feel appreciated by a good friend, needs to feel at “home” every once in a while.

I just finished an online conversation fifteen minutes ago with, Eli, a good friend form high school who I haven’t seen since I left for New Zealand and who is now working via the internet as my editor for articles I am hoping to publish.  Before she signed off, she told me this, “Just wanna tell you one more thing.  Just want you to know that I respect you a lot for what you’ve been doing, i.e., following through with your goals of traveling, etc.  So many people are all talk and they never just up and DO things, you know?  It’s refreshing to see someone that actively pursues what they want to do, even if it takes a lot of effort.  I’ve just been thinking this whole time; I couldn’t have done what you did.”

My response to such a complete compliment from such a good friend who, until recently, I had been afraid I was starting to lose was this, “That is why I end up traveling alone.  [Not everyone is willing to work long hours to afford plane tickets or overcome their fears and board that plane].  I definitely appreciate what you said, and that you’re helping me with it.  I wish, though, that all this travel stuff didn’t interfere so much with friendships.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s the trade off you make,” she said.  “But it also helps you meet new people.”

I am so grateful to have friends who stick by me, despite distances, despite the fact that my goals quite often don’t include them.  I have recently begun to doubt my decisions, for the reason that these decisions interfere greatly with relationships.  It is difficult to maintain a friendship across oceans and continents.  But I have also recently been reassured by friends that I have not lost them.

Friends I met in New Zealand have invited me to visit them in Sweden, Denmark, Germany and Singapore.  My friend, David, another of my best friends from high school told me I have inspired him to try to take winter intersession classes in Ireland.  My friend, Bowen, who lives on the other side of the continent, 3,000 miles away, solicited me for advice on applying to study abroad programs in locations such as Brisbane.  Another high school friend, Mandy, and I have recently begun concocting ideas for a travel related television show that is currently in the daydream stages of production.  Kara, a friend at NYU, is going to be my travel companion in Paris, Morocco and Italy this summer.  Other friends including Alice and Lily aren’t against the idea of traveling in Australia or the UK on work holiday visas after graduation.  My father’s parents who are notorious for spending all of their vacations in the same place in the Adirondacks have stepped out of their worn out hiking boots, crossed a couple ponds and cruised to Panama, Costa Rica and Baja where they bought a timeshare.

Maybe my travel isn’t so isolating after all?  On Monday, Lindsey and I planned a rendezvous in the West Village.  Lindsey was one of the first people I met in New Zealand.  She just happens to study at Columbia.  We had a nice talk at Grey Dog’s Café about how wonderful an experience studying abroad alone is.  Lindsey said traveling to New Zealand taught her that she doesn’t have to change depending on who she is interacting with; she can be herself.  I told her I had exactly the same experience.  We also both agree we are now comfortable being alone for extended periods of time.  I then tortured her with my choppy rendition of Yellow Submarine on the guitar, but she withstood it gracefully, even singing along.

Travel has changed us, both of us.  It changes everyone.  If you asked me to describe that change in a single word, it would have to be respect.  I respect myself so much more than I ever did.  In turn I am so much happier, more authentic, in tune with what I want and need.  When a body is in that sort of place, respect flows that much more easily from others.  And I have to say, I now more than ever respect those people I love who love me back.  I have never felt so much satisfaction in my life as I have these last few months.  So, thank you.

I wrote this post back in January, left it sitting, stinking in my drafts box, and after a second read, I think I should post it.  It’s how I felt when I first got back to the city (before that “cold” turned into a wicked four-week-long sinus infection):

Jan 26, 2006: 

 Since I, the travel junkie, posted my last entries about my trip here in “Finding My Fix” on January 20th, just five days ago, I have been suffering terrible withdrawal. I desperately need another fix. I’ve got the shakes; I caught a cold for the first time since April; I can’t resist looking up plane tickets; I’ve even gone so far as to write… poetry! I’ve applied to a six week Journalism in London program, so hopefully I’ll be accepted and be able to start writing gramatically correct, aesthetic, organized, decent posts, and maybe even make some money off my writing for once. It’s the only way I know that I can take a “Travel Writing” course and an “International Journalism” course while enrolled here at my university. At the moment I’m enrolled in both Intro to Creative Writing, and Reporting I, but even all that writing is not enough!

I’ve been in NYC for two weeks and I’m still suffering culture shock. I’ve had disturbing anxiety ridden dreams involving zombies and natural disasters and my government trying to kill me. Call it paranoia, call it what you will, but I think it is a combination of watching too many movies and the temporary discomfort of change. New Yorkers talk so fast, I can’t understand them anymore; they crowd the streets in such numbers, I can’t walk; rain falls at a rate I would expect of England, and collects with oil in black puddles in the crosswalks. These are the things I used to like about the city, save for the puddles. They were the things I loved like the quirks that draw you to a lover. But those quirks eventually become thorns in your side. No worries, though, life is grand, and so is this city, once I get off my lazy butt and start doing things, I know I’ll start to forget about the thorns. And hell, maybe it’ll finally snow so New York’s true beauty can come out.

Feb 20, 2006: Well, it would seem wishes do come true!

Guess what happy blogger was just accepted into the Journalism in London program... this one!  I will be studying travel writing and journalism in a post 9-11 world.  Sweet as, mate, sweet as!  You better be ready!

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