I want to travel. There, I’ve said it. And I know, everyone wants to travel. But this longing is so intense, I have to write about it. I don’t want to go on a holiday. I don’t want to go abroad. I want to travel. “Why do you have this need to travel?” a friend asks me.”What is it that drives you? What do you long for?”
I long for new things. Meeting people. Listening to stories. New horizons and not knowing what the next turn will bring. To be nobody, to not having to be somebody. Traveling is a fresh start. And yes, I know. It’s probably some way of escapism. Escaping from your life, others, family, identity, work, …
But what if it truly makes you happy? I used to travel a lot when I was younger. By myself or with friends. And I tried to make a living from traveling in many ways. I can teach English in South Korea if I want to. I can be a travel writer and write reviews from beautiful places. But none of these things match why I really want to travel.
The thing is, it’s such a cliché. Everyone wants to live the bucket-list dream. What makes my urge so special? There are no real goals involved. It doesn’t make other people better and there’s no business plan. So what is it that I do when I travel? I get lost. I talk to people. I visit places that interest me. I read and write whatever strikes me as remarkable. I look at houses, I gaze through the window, I stare at the sea, I learn new exciting words and I try sentences. I learn. Every day. That’s want I want.
I want to travel and I’m afraid to say it because it sounds so juvenile.
The only purpose is to be inspired by the world. Traveling is breathing. And I’m choking. Even by writing this, I catch myself hoping somehow I’ll find a way to make a living out of this. That I’ll magically succeed in finding my path towards the travelmoneyfountain.
I only want to travel to travel. Because the world is beautiful, because everything which is different of what you already know, is beautiful. Because I can reminisce about life and I enjoy every single moment. There’s no need for anything. And I’m happy being alone and I’m happy being with others.
When I travel, the feeling of loneliness becomes this creative melancholy in which I deeply feel home. Traveling is emptying your backpack and living off your heart. Your heart that is so often neglected in your daily life. I just want to be on the road. But tomorrow I have to find myself. And make some money. And hopefully I can quickly be on the road again.