In honor of the seven-day countdown to my departure to Europe, I’ve composed a little travelogue about—what else—traveling.
When that horizon sings its sweet melody of escape, all those wanderers, with their wandering ways, have to go. The melody sounds different for each wayfarer. Some hear the smooth lyrics of island songs, others the gentle beat of African drums. I hear the fine strings of the classical guitar, plucking out some rock n’ roll rhythm, calling me to travel the past in search for some semblance of serenity. For those who wander, there is nothing greater than the music of travel, the play-it-in-your-car, blast-it-in-your-head notes that you always hear, even when the volume is turned down. Every trip should have its music tracks to absorb you in the sheer magnitude of a moment. Listen to those tunes as you stand on a beach, staring out at the ocean. Absorb those rhythms as you sit atop the mountain, looking down on the clouds. Move to that music and let it take you around the world, a trip of conscience, a trip laden with the burning passions of got-to-go moments and have-to-see sights. When we travel alone, with only our music to keep us company, we are ourselves. Without anyone’s tune playing in the background, harmonizing your melody, or melodizing your harmony, you can find your own song. Let it play; don’t let it stop. Hear it on the road while the wheels churn below, listen as the deafening roar of plane engines drowns out everything else. Hear that song in silence, when you stand alone without a person in sight to change the tune. The music is loudest in silence of alone. People bring their own unique twist on a tune, but you should understand your own tunes as well as accompaniments. You must see the notes, feel them beating up and down. Create a symphony of fellow travlers, an orchestra of people known and places seen. Traveling is most real when absorb all the songs and sounds. Breathe the rhythm, sing the songs, let them play to the silence of travel.