March 2, 2012

The Travel Bug and Work-Life Balance

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I became afflicted with the illness long before I could put a name to it. I think I was seven. At that point, I hadn't even been on my first plane trip, but family road trips that stretched across the golden state or other parts of the western coast were enough to inspire that feeling of adventure. As a kid, I remember experiencing that jolt of excitement just from being in a new place. Somewhere during that time I became hooked, and since then, every attempt to shed that urge of wanderlust has been met with failure. I used to believe that one epic trip could cure it--or at least calm the urgency, but as my traveling companion, Fia, and I have discussed, more travel only seems to feed the beast.

I still remember writing those prompts in school that always began something like: Ten years from now I hope to... And while most kids had loftier ambitions of becoming doctors who found a cure for cancer or movie stars or pro baseball players, mine were often vague statements that ended with some desire to travel and see the world. Reflecting back on the places I've been and the things that I've been fortunate enough to experience, I marvel at how true to form those words on a piece of paper have turned out to be. In many ways, I feel that my life has been a constant journey of self-discovery with a continuous and unpredictable bend in the road.

In college, I graduated from family trips to backpacking on my own or with friends. I was constantly occupied with thoughts about my next destination and how to make it happen. My parents threw a fit when I announced I was going on my first solo journey, but I think on some level, they probably knew that they set the whole thing in motion years ago--and that my gypsy-blood and spirit of exploration partially came from them. Over the years, they've mellowed out, which is a good thing...because if they only knew...

It's taken some reflection to condense all of my feelings and thoughts into a singular travel philosophy, so this my attempt: I feel like travel is one part culinary discovery (trying the local cuisine), one part cultural experience (immersing yourself in a new language and strange customs, appreciating the architecture, the music, the art), one part sensory confusion (experiencing the beauty of the newness), one part unavoidable mishaps (because those end up making the best stories) and another part the people encountered en-route (because certain people you come across will leave an indelible impression or inspire you with first or second-hand stories that blow your mind).

When I meet people who share a similar philosophy or have the travel bug, I'm quick to recognize it because they have that same look in their eyes--halfway between crazy and wild excitement. Occasionally, I'll run into someone with fantastic stories from the road, and that feeling of restlessness intensifies out of nowhere. It's funny how that works--the travel bug can be dormant for so long, and then those symptoms of yearning for the road and restlessness start to set in. In fact, that's what's inspired this lengthy introspective post.

My friend introduced me to her friend, and the common threads between all of us were a love for climbing and an addiction to travel, so naturally after a night of climbing, the four of us ended up in a little North Beach cafe drinking coffee and sharing desserts. His stories--told with such vivid details--kept us enraptured and stirred renewed feelings of wanderlust. He talked about his trip to North Korea where he ran a self-created marathon in the parking lot, which sounds completely ridiculous, but as he recounted his adventures and continued to entertain us with his stories, I found myself connecting more to what translated as his need to push boundaries and experience something different. Here was a guy who had run 250 miles across Cuba with a twenty-five pound pack and a gallon-sized jug of water! Something about being surrounded  by people like that--people who I haven't encountered since my travels--rekindled my restlessness and pushed the "I-need-to-go-somewhere" button to a new level of urgency. It also made me deeply question my direction in life--where I'm going and where I want to be in ten years. It's funny because I was never a big fan of that question...

I think most people infected with the travel bug all wonder the same thing at a certain point--we all question it. I constantly waver between living in the moment and toeing the line of a path that feels more conventional. Tonight I was reminded of that same internal tug-of-war battle. Part of the issue stems from meeting people who have lived on opposite ends of the spectrum. One person I remember distinctly because he was so committed to that American brand of success--the right education that turns into a fast-track career that leads to a house in the suburbs with two kids. The other person lived an outwardly exciting life of exotic destinations and never ending adventures that resulted in a string of short-lived relationships and no place to call home. In the end, they each envied the life that they didn't have, or at least wondered...So now I wonder, is regret the life not lived, or is it possible to have both? The more I think about it, the more I think the answer is balance. Finding that happy medium where you can balance responsibility with adventure seems to be the real challenge. There's a sticker on my computer monitor at work that reads "work-life balance." I wonder if I will ever find that. 


I also feel like I'm reaching a turning point in my life where new priorities have once again jumbled that path of clarity...color me befuddled. Someday, I will pin down this work-life balance thing. But for now, it's back to work.