I was asked once, a very long time ago, by a person special to me… What are you running from? I’ve thought about that question so many times in the years since and wondered if it was a valid one; if I was/have been running from something or if I have instead been just searching for something during all this haphazard travel and in all these spontaneous moments. All these times that I have finally gotten somewhat comfortable in life and then flung myself as far out of my comfort zone as possible… What if anything am I looking for? What is my cause for this innate drive to explore the new and unexplored?
I thought of this post and the things I wanted to write while driving down a rain-soaked highway in Maryland (yet another couple-month stopover in my constant journey). There has never been a time during a long distance drive, watching the white divider lines on the highway blink by, that I have felt anything but a sense of calm contentedness… of life, promise, and possibility. Watching those lines on that drive brought me to this.
I believe that the journey itself is what I live for. Those calming in-between moments of travel from point A to point B. There is an exciting “anything-could-happen” and “I-could-go-anywhere” ambiance to it all. I get the same feeling in wide open spaces, times when I am truly alone, when I have the ability to stop in the night warm desert and sleep under the stars, basking in the freedom of my own mobility. I can stay. I can go. I can do whatever I like.
I have a special love of the new destination but have come to realize that it is on the path itself when I feel the most content. I could drive across this beautiful country again and again. I could fly to every country, take every train, decipher every road map and bus system in the world and I would still want more. I can think when I travel. I find solace in the simplistic act of it. The single task at hand that it offers me. I feel close to my own God, my own thoughts, my own brand of sleepy existentialism.
There is so much beauty and meaning in the journey, so much promise, that when I am deprived of it I lose my inspiration and start to lose myself. Some people find their comfort in stability. I find it in the in-between. I cannot yet comment on why this is, I just know that it has always been this way for me for as long as I can remember. Call it the product of a chaotic background. Call it inborn curiosity. Call it an interminable optimism that just around the corner is something profound. Call it a result of all these things. I have even, in part, chalked this unstoppable drive to explore up to Sagittarian wanderlust. I have met others of the same sign that are much like me, and with each passing year I am less apt to believe in coincidence.
So it has taken me years to be able to answer the question that I was asked so many years ago… but I think at this point I can say, as confidently as I can in knowing myself at this point in my life, I’m not running from anything. I’m not running to anything. I’m just living the only way that feels right to me and the only way that I know: For the moment. For promise. For the journey.