There is something intrinsically enchanting about traveling—
Meeting small destinies,
Feeling the flow of life sweep you along—
It’s not all about running away,
Or where you end up,
Or how fast you go—
Rather, it’s about the actual act of
Moving Forward.
You sit in the car, or on the plane, or in the back of someone’s pickup, and you can see the landscape undergo its natural metamorphosis again and again
Into unique multifaceted checkpoints down the list of
Things To Experience:
People to laugh with,
Hands to hold,
Memories to make…
I look out into the alternating horizon and see
‘Opportunity’ spelled out in the clouds.
I look out and can see all the reasons why I should just
Take to the wind,
Flit and float across vast spaces of life—
Set free my spirit of all societal burden for the sake of introspective sentience and honest self-discovery—
I get the appeal;
I have tasted from the goblet that decadent ambrosia,
That flavor by which coats and balms my self-criticizing soul—
Soothing away all the hack marks,
The pocks and nicks and dents that blemish and tarnish the delicate skin protecting my psyche—
I am healed by travel,
By taking life seriously as that journey by which to merely ‘enjoy the ride’,
By making a literal journey out of life,
(Via journeying.)
Ah, even as I drive onward,
Even as I am propelled ever forward along the Devil’s Backbone, and Montezuma’s Castle, chasing the setting sun,
I am already thirsting for more