Maybe because travelling has always to me seemed like the meaning of life. Even when I spend long months perfectly content in my home town, fondly remembering the complicated, adventurous journeys of my youth and sighing in relief at not having to experience all that uncertainty, discomfort and homesickness right now.
Still, I measure my life in the journeys I've made, and display them as proof to myself that I'm not wasting my years.
And on a trip to a place where I've never been before, I hungrily devour with all my senses the new experiences and new landscapes that open up before me. I don't necessarily need activities. I just need to see, observe, learn about, and be in the new place. To others, I seem a bit obsessed and manic in a foreign city - not conditions people usually associate with me.
Yesterday, I took a day trip across the pond to Sweden, to Umeå city. I spent four hours there, not doing anything terribly exciting. And yet, I know I will count this trip as one of the signifying events of this year.
Maybe I just need to get out more.
But I cherish the ability to marvel. The joy that I felt, being somewhere else.
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