Young people are always engrossed with traveling, of not being here, of being somewhere else, of being anywhere else but here, as if we’re always looking for ourselves.

We are traveling all the time. Our mind travels. Our heart travels. Even our nostrils travel. It’s in our DNA to travel. We travel even if we are standing. We travel even without moving.

We travel with empty pockets. We travel hungry. We travel dumb. We travel and cry. We look back, we smile. We travel with haste or take our time. We travel with a cross. We travel carefree. We limp, we glide, we jump, we embrace. We travel with open arms. We travel as cowards. We travel light or heavy. We leave marks, we leave scars. We travel gracefully, we travel tired. We travel near, we travel far. Sometimes, we don’t know the way. We travel alone, we travel as one. We travel and pretend, or pretend to travel.

We are traveling souls. Always searching. Always looking. We never cease to travel. We do only when we cease to be. But even then….

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Traveling… in opposite directions…

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… in horses…

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… back in time…

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… into an abyss.

*This is part of a 68-Day Travel Diary called Reflections of a Nearly Thirty. Read the full Reflections Series here.

Join the conversation! 3 Comments

  1. I agree with most points there, but the biggest reason should be to just deeply engage with a place! 🙂 Wrote about something recently.. on why the destination has to be felt deeply before and during, for the travel to be real..

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    • I agree. Sometimes our engagement with a place is something difficult to express even through writing. Sometimes a place affects us or moves us in a way we don’t understand. We are changed when that happens.

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  2. […] will never be the same for me as we’ll be setting off very soon on a continent-wide roadtrip, at least to as many countries as possible within 10 days, in a van, with six other people, a baby, […]

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About hellopenville

Writing is my one true north. (The other is eating spaghetti. I make the best pastas in the whole world I swear!) I have been writing since age 10. I remember being in another school a lot because of Campus Journalism contests. I was a grade-school copyreader, headline-writer, and feature writer, who emerged to be a college editorial writer and eventually a TV news writer. However, I have always been an insecure artist. These constant condescending thoughts always stopped me from creating: “No one would read this.” “This has been written before and therefore no one would read this.” “This is not interesting enough and therefore no one would read this.” “This is not relevant, or factual, or trendy enough and therefore no one would read this.” But I learned to risk to write even if no one reads it, than not to have written anything at all. To resist writing is to resist truth itself, to betray that which comes freely to you when you do not allow it to be manifested through you. I didn’t think writing was serious work. But every time I thought about writing, it would make me nervous. It would rattle me and frighten me. I would shake the ground under me. Aren’t dreams like that too? Read more at penville.net.

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Europe, Holland, Travel, Travel Reflections Series (3 months in Europe)

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