At some or the other point in time, one reaches a set of beliefs and understanding enough to bucket-list items that either make them feel alive or simply don’t. Have you ever felt the adrenaline pumping up your insides rapidly, or veins popping off the body [well, not literally!], or an out-of-the-blue head rush where the blood gushes by bottoms-up within a second? That’s what travel does to me.
Better realized late than never; travelling has been a source of countless inspirations, much-needed water for the body not unlike blood for the heart, and a medicine to revive the alive-o-meter. Although, as clichéd as it may sound, it’s much more than this that travelling does to me, and I may not do the experience justice by going on with more verses and lyrics. When I am away from the regular and the mundane, the world not only seems a different place, but also the seemingly boring qualms seem to fade out into the horizon. Every one of the senses turns arousing. The mind becomes conditionally purified and airs up to taste every bit as sweet and fresh as the water sourced from a stream. Maybe, that’s what they call inner peace or alternatively, attaining nirvana.
There is a bit of a belief that has held, and continues to hold good for me: Stay away to keep the craving alive. That applies to travelling too. Or does it? Maybe, it is its absence that makes me realize it’s what’s missing. Maybe, it is its time-off that makes me want to plan for it innumerably and endlessly. Maybe, it is the variation in sights and sides it shows me, that makes me go in search for it all the more. Although, given a chance in all potential circumstances, it is highly unlikely that I will step back to consider striking-off travelling from the many few items adorning my ever-craving-list. Maybe, deep down, it is the lack of having something more interesting to do with life that I may not mind even if it were to turn into my way-of-life.
Interestingly, off late I have noticed that I have a tendency to get emotionally upset on the day we return from a travel; the next 24 – 48 hours are spent merely feeling lousy and detached. The idea of returning brings a yucky feeling, and the routine and the city just don’t seem so. It’s not that I mind the concept of a ‘daily routine’ or the household chores; in fact, I quite like the idea of settling up, the catch here being — only with the to-do list I would love to do! The ever-circling rush of getting to work, to having the day being spent on something not remotely or productively interesting, to getting back home, to having stressed out at the end of each day — physically and mentally — has finally seemed to have reached its threshold of adherence. Screw the bills — I don’t feel like I want to care about those anymore.
So, is it all coming down to moving on, or yet having to look for a so-called Silver Lining on the horizon?