I’ve always loved the idea of travel. Going is nice too. Seeing new things and experiencing new ideas and places and people. But at some point in my late teens, I got a need to travel. Like a desperate want. I had to get out of the small town of my birth, make my way, BE someone, somewhere cool. And since then I have visited a few countries. I never did live and work overseas.
I often wondered where that desire and drive to travel came from. My parents where semi-avid travellers and went overseas every few years when I was growing up. But it wasn’t that. I think for me, I thought that if I went everywhere, saw everything that would make me somebody. Special, important, unique. Never for a minute did I imagine that it would simply continue to be my life just as it was, but there.
You know, same same.
So even when I did travel, I wasn’t present in those moments. I was waiting for that moment to arrive. The I’ve arrived moment. And it didn’t come. And I was disappointed. Disillusioned. Disenchanted. All the Dis’s, you know. And I couldn’t understand why something I wanted so badly was so unsatisfying. And it turns out, for me that I didn’t want to travel, I wanted to run away. To be someone cooler. Better.
And there is a freedom in liking who I am now, where I am. A contentment and a satisfaction that I looked for all those years in my late teens and early twenties. It really is a strange thing this late twenties growing process. I guess this is how people feel so liberated and together in their thirties and later in the forties etc. They do a whole bunch of mental house keeping.
Interesting? Maybe not. But what about you. Is there something that you did or wanted to do for all the wrong reasons. Can’t think of something, just think back to the last time you go something you thought you wanted and were disappointed. And dig there. Share that with me, would you.
Suger 
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