Travel is a Mirror

A Case for Leaving

As I headed to the Catania Airport, Tom Petty played through taxi speakers and I wished for a drag of one of those chic, skinny European cigarettes. Out one window, sun glimmered off the ocean. Out the other, dark blue clouds hung ominously like a bruise above the horizon.

I felt I was being driven against my will. A plane waited to take me home in a few hours. I wanted to claw the handle, pop the door, roll out, and dramatically cling to the curb.

Nothing remained for me — the markets and streets walked, espressos and cocktails downed, room left empty by a friend who took an early flight. Still, I resisted.

Wishing vacation never ends is a cliche — but also, a far cry from how the trip began. I boarded the plane from Chicago sour and pessimistic, convinced no place in the world could change my mind. How arrogant. Of course, I was wrong.

Days elapsed in a more perfect sequence than I could imagine. The trip became beautiful and color flushed my cheeks. I ate, drank, and shared new experiences as I grew closer with friends. I never wanted to return to the ignorant version of the girl who arrived. I transformed.

I lingered outside the airport as the clouds threatened rain. I needed to feel the Sicilian weather on my skin; in my hair; I needed to wring out every drop.

Crowds walked into the airport. I looked at them while trying to sort my thoughts: this trip was a Good Thing, right? A change for the better? The Anthony Bourdain quote that routinely circles the internet came to mind:

“If I do have any advice for anybody, any final thought, if I'm an advocate for anything, it's to move as far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. The extent to which you can walk in somebody else's shoes. Or at least eat their food. It's a plus for everybody. Open your mind.”

I guess my new feelings seemed transformational enough I feared them fraudulent — I was scared to unlearn, regress. God forbid the hope and charm I’d found traveling turned to smoke and mirrors upon my return. Certainly, we all fall prey to this trap: maybe if we linger forever, our hearts will not break.

I wondered how real anything is without context: am I more myself at home or on the road? Which exposes The Truth?

Finally, I stood up, joined the crowd, and walked through the automatic doors. Being on the road felt good.

A Case for Staying

Ironically, I spent the year prior carefully constructing an argument that running from home was a fool’s errand.

Now I considered eating those words. Could I reconcile two opposing philosophies?

I pitched the case for staying when friends asked, “but what do you want to do?” (as if my life required uprooting, for some reason). I responded, “I know what I want. I like where I am.” My job checked the boxes, my home filled over time with memories I loved, I had the world’s best cat by my side, and a circle of talented friends. The city expanded vast and wide with opportunity, connection, and bridges to other worlds. I felt grounded in Chicago.

This feeling grew more compelling after reading Commitment is the Only Secret Knowledge by Isabel. She states:

“I am more interested in creating the experience I want where I am, instead of endlessly seeking it outside myself, wondering if the next spot I go to will satiate all of the desires I think I cannot find where I am. Because when you’re in that mindset—that willingness to indulge in the fleeting nature of seeking, of believing that what you want is somewhere new instead of where you are—then you never get all that interested in what you have, what is in front of you, waiting to be explored.”

And,

“Commitment contains what you could never get by going wide; benefits that can only be experienced by going deep into something.”

“…Which has made this one of the most pressing questions I am exploring—not how many new things can I experiment with, but how much dimension can I experience from experimenting with just one thing?”

I found myself in every line of her writing. Escapism stopped working for me. The novelty of leaving — of elsewhere — became hollow. Instead, where I steadied and invested myself, I found greater returns. I identified what mattered. I realized it’s not romantic to be lost. Chasing something is tiring, but knowing something is powerful.

Adopting this mindset, I felt powerful. Home felt good.

A Case for Reflecting

So the question remains, to stay or go?

The framing is often flawed, though — prefaced with “should I?” when the question worth asking is, “why?”

“Should” implies a solution. “Why” implies curiosity. Turns out, travel is not a solution. It also is not the problem. Travel does not function in these ways, because no matter how long spent lingering, anywhere, problems remain.

Travel’s truest form is a mirror.

Loneliness, restlessness, and disappointment wait on every continent. I’ve seen vacations crack open and end relationships on the rocks. I’ve listened to the woes of friends who travel extensively for work. Trying to leave behind the parts you don’t want to look at, in search of something shinier, has a certain way of throwing them back in your face.

Conversely, investing in a caring, loving community means taking them with you everywhere you go. Travel becomes great when what you see for the first time has to measure up to everything you know. Sure, Sicily was beautiful — but that wasn’t the joy; the joy came in sharing.

It seems finding novelty in the mundane also allows for finding new pieces of yourself in the unknown.

Bourdain got some of it wrong. “Moving as far as you can, as much as you can” neglects the importance of time. Catching glimpses is one thing, looking long enough to like your reflection is another.