It’s not gradual…I don’t care what people say…It’s like you’re standing outside yourself on the tracks watching a freight train slam into your body and still feeling each rail wheel thump over your corpse…This is exactly what it feels like for a traveler, after being so elated during travels, to return to “real life.”
Well…maybe it’s a BIT of a morbid metaphor, but it’s the first that comes to mind, and I’m all about free-flow writing.
For me, traveling is an extreme high at every moment. Even on a lazy day in Spain when the weather is perfect and all I want to do is sit in a hammock and read or play with my photos, I’m still amazed that I’M IN SPAIN doing it. When I get lost in the alleyways of Hydra, Greece, I don’t feel fear or anxiety of not finding my way back…I’m a giddy 10-year-old again on some great adventure. Every second of my travels brings me an inner peace that I never find at home…Even if I’m clubbing into the early morning hours in Budapest, I’m still fucking elated that I (a) yet again met some kick-ass people and (b) am in fucking Budapest partying my ass off. Whether I call it a lazy day or an exploration day, it’s all still one big adventure. And I can’t get enough.
Then I come home. Maybe it’s because I’m not exactly happy or content with my life here that makes me want to escape so much…I get to be a better version of myself….a happy version of myself…and be truly at peace when I can separate from “home” reality…Maybe one day there will be reason enough for me to love both places but as it stands right now, travel is my Xanax. And I want to ride that high for as long as I fucking can.