I’m currently devoting a decent chunk of my brain space to a project, hopefully coming to you this Advent season (could that be a hint)? So, that preoccupation is leaving me with little motivation to write meaningfully here.
Lucky for you, I have many drafts just waiting to be renewed and sent out into the world. Initially, these ideas came in the summer of 2020. It was our last full year in Japan, and so many of the trips that we had planned didn’t come to fruition. So I chose to relive some previous adventures.
With travel put on hold for a while, I’ve been revisiting some past trips. When new places aren’t as accessible, reminiscing is the next best thing.
For months now, my old journals have been laid out on the guest bed, organized by year. I’ve been returning to old travel journals, searching for new ways of remembering trips from years ago.
Travel can bring out some interesting emotions in me. Sometimes, I’m perfectly content just to have the trip live in the “future time.” It’s kind of nice having something to look forward to. Once I go, there’s nothing else to anticipate. This usually happens when I’m anxious or nervous about an adventure. I remember feeling it keenly when preparing to go to Bangkok in 2019. Anything could happen. What if we just didn’t go, but instead thought about going?
On the flip side, sometimes I’m so excited to be in the place, doing the things, that I miss the magic that can happen on the journey. Travel isn’t always about the destination. Oftentimes, there are important lessons that we can only learn on the way there.
Don’t Tune Out
One thing I’m noticing as I document these early adventures, especially my first few trips outside of the States, is how much attention I paid to getting there.
On my first international trip to Ireland in 2007, I was so jet lagged. I had never been on a commercial plane before, much less traveled so far. But I insisted on staying awake for the long bus ride from the airport to the hostel. I was one of a handful who didn’t sleep. I didn’t want to miss anything.
Even now, I can still see the low rock walls and bright green fields out the bus window.
Especially lately, as travel has become a more regular rhythm of life, I find myself tuning out the act of getting to my destination.
Being in transit usually means checking out with airplane movies, sleeping, double-checking arrangements, playing games, working, or anything else to make the time pass. But what are we missing by living in the future?
A Lesson from My Dog
Too often, travelers miss out on the richness of the journey. I’m guilty of this. Anxiety steps in and wants to rule the day, or I’m so excited, I just want to be there.
On our walk one morning, I noticed my dog was not this way. (For those of you who have been around for a while, you may remember we had a dog both in Italy and Japan. He’s happily enjoying a semi-retirement with my parents. Fewer kids, less noise, more pets.)
Wilfred is rarely in a hurry. More often than not, our walks are slow. We spend plenty of time standing in one spot, sniffing until we’ve found all the things.
Even in our front yard, he’ll linger on the corner, wanting to pinpoint that scent. For our food-driven puppy, it doesn’t matter that food awaits him just inside the door. Sometimes we’ll prompt him with “wanna go eat?” It works for a moment, but it doesn’t take Fred long to find something else outside to linger over.
Fred isn’t so focused on food, his ultimate destination, that he forgets to enjoy the journey in front of him. He’s not so intent on getting there that he misses stopping to smell the roses (sometimes literally).
A Literal Getting There: Nicaragua
My second overseas trip was to Nicaragua, and my first to a developing country. Despite double-digit hours of travel over multiple days, I couldn’t bear to shut my eyes on all that was happening before me.
We arrive in Managua with hours of travel still ahead of us. I know extraordinarily little about where we are, where we’re going, or how we’re planning to get there.
The customs line at the airport seems never-ending, likely made longer by the abuelas in wheelchairs, helping themselves to the space in front of us. I don’t even mind – I’m here.
The air outside the airport lobby hits me like a ton of bricks. It’s heavy and thick, hot but not as wet as we usually have on the East coast. The shock is both oppressive and welcome after so many hours of recycled air.
We board a new Toyota van and pull away under the watchful eyes of those who stand around us. Even the traffic is different. Lanes feel smaller, and cars seem closer to one another. Pedestrians walk in the center, surrounded by congestion, hoping to sell bags of water hanging from a stick.
Cars honk at each other, but without the rude undertone felt on the streets of the States. Instead of “watch it, dummy (or insert word of your choosing)!” it feels more like, “Hey there, I’m coming up beside you, please don’t come over.”
I have no idea how long we’ve been driving, but it’s 6:30 pm and dark when we arrive at the dock, pulling right up to the water. We’ve made the last ferry of the evening. People and packs are brought on board, and it’s not long before we’re pulling away.
Embracing the Destination
Despite the early hour, the inky darkness is thick. On the deck, my friend Lauren and I find benches to lie on, staring at the stars. I know she’s there only by her voice – I can’t see her at all.
I’ve never seen so many stars in my life, either before or since. The darkness on Lake Nicaragua was unlike any I’d ever known. Full, complete, and all-encompassing, but also welcoming and safe. I spent the 90-minute ride feeling small and grateful.
We dock on the island of Ometepe, and everyone feels a bit disoriented after the boat ride. Our van passes houses with doors and windows open, the lights inside illuminating unfamiliar patterns of life.
I’m surprised how many homes have electricity, televisions playing news or prime time entertainment from their corners. It was my first journey to a developing country – I didn’t know any better.
It’s late when we arrive, and tomorrow I will wake up within the borders of another country, a place where I don’t speak the language.
Heaven.
Travel journals are often my best ones. Travel heightens our senses and awakens our curiosity after it’s been dulled by too much expected routine.
What if we applied this same curiosity to our everyday lives? What might we become aware of?
Every day is a journey. May we remember not to get so caught up in arriving at the end of the day. Here’s to embracing the journey, even if it’s just taking the kids to the grocery store. There is magic in the mundane, and new things to discover.
