For a writer, reading and writing are two halves of the same breath cycle. Reading is breathing in; writing is breathing out.
Yet, all the reading and research I can muster is, for me, a mere pittance when compared to the insight gained by travel. The experience of doing, of seeing firsthand how things work, how people live and thrive in other countries and cultures, how a certain road feels beneath your feet, how a certain fragrance wafts through a city at a certain time of day; it's irreplaceable.
Travel is both my hobby and constant aspiration. The process of preparation, the planning, the weighing of individual interests, the consideration of time and cost variables are equally satisfying. I love nothing more than thinking about our next great adventure.
My office bookshelf holds a variety of travel books. My favorite magazines are AFAR and National Geographic Travel. I have paper files crammed with articles ranging from quirky roadside statues, to enticing bistros on other continents, to historically obscure ruins, to contemporary technological wonders. My Google Favorites menu has a 'travel' file with subcategories divided by interest and country.
Travel suits me. I am, by nature, a restless spirit.
But I am a restless spirit whose love of family has weighted the flightier aspects of my personality.
The idea of travel, as well as travel itself keeps me both enriched emotionally and grounded in my own life. While the fantasy of travel could be called escapism, for me it provides motivation to appreciate my daily life just that much more. Because the travel I envision, and most often experience, is a bridge into the unknown, but it's one shared with the people I love most in the world.
Travel opens us. It bonds us to greater humanity. It makes us better versions of ourselves.
Because of travel, I become a better writer.
When I am locked in my own head working on a project, I am far more likely to fret over the results than when I step outside my routine.The more I learn about the world, the more I learn about myself, the more relevant my writing is to those who might one day read it.
And while my travel fantasies may find me hopping a flight to Paris or Mumbai, the reality of a busy household with two young teenagers, combined with the usual time and financial constraints, often keep my adventures much closer to home.
Still, the right attitude can turn the simplest adventure into a sparkling moment of serendipitous return. Art museums and libraries fill the gap between elaborate holidays. As do untried cuisines, new artisan shops, or simply meeting friends for tea. Spending active time outdoors never fails as a balm for this restless spirit.
Travel, whether local or abroad, reminds me that my thoughts and stories are both my own and part of some greater conversation.
Travel is a window into the world. But more importantly, it is also a doorway that leads us straight into the heart of who we are as individuals. Stepping through that doorway, we learn what is most significant to each of us, and to those we love.
Be strong, and travel well.
