I travel, therefore, I am.
Why sit scrunched up in an airliner seat for hours craning my neck to peer at a tiny TV screen when I could lounge on the couch and gaze at a full-sized television? Why sit hunched over the steering wheel for endless miles when I could sit on the front porch in a rocking chair? Why bother to travel at all? Why not just stay at home?
Somewhere there is a road on which I have not traveled. The road is wide and straight, then begins to narrow and wind. The pavement turns to dirt, and the smooth ride becomes bumpy as the road flies over potholes, dives into creeks, and ducks under overhanging branches. Finally, the road peters out and ends in a meadow.
Somewhere across the meadow there is a mountain I have not traversed. The trail climbs easily at first, then begins to steepen and endlessly switchback across scree-strewn and lava-lined slopes. Finally, the trail crests and overlooks a valley.
Somewhere down in the valley is a stream whose course I have not followed. It trickles and bubbles through fields of wildflowers, then races over boulders and rocks, and roars from atop a waterfall into a pool far below. Finally, the stream widens into a river and slowly flows across the land and into the sea.
Somewhere across the sea is a country where I have not yet set foot. It is full of people whose language I have not spoken, whose food I have not partaken, and whose rituals of day life I have not experienced.
Why sit scrunched up in an airliner seat for hours craning your neck to peer at a tiny TV screen when you could lounge on the couch and gaze at a full-sized television? Why sit hunched over the steering wheel for endless miles when you could sit on the front porch in a rocking chair? Why bother to travel at all? Why not just stay at home?
You travel, therefore, you are.
No comments:
Post a Comment