Well, it`s been a wild ride – about three months of relatively constant, random and uninhibited adventure…

I`ve hit that crucial juncture where I`ve become entirely comfortable being away – living out of an oversized backpack, sleeping in foreign beds with foreign sheets, and with relative strangers surrounding me always - the idea of either riding steadily in this country, or seeking more adventure in others… well, neither would phase me.

At this point I really could be a nomad forever.

I`m a dreamer, but also a realist constantly in search of purpose and now is the time where I either start dreamingly longing for home (for the ideas and jobs and plans I have simply waiting for me to pan out back in Toronto - after all, life there has always been trip!), or simply accepting my nomadic status, and begin seeking out exciting places to park myself abroad.  I have never really done the latter. 

For the vast amounts of travelling I`ve so consistently thrown myself into, I have always done so with a return date.  Not this time, of course, but I ended up with one just recently. 

For better or for worse, it`s granted me structure.  I`ve usually returned home to school, and always a good job… and thus money for future travels.  But I`ve always marvelled at the experience of actually moving - relocating indefinitely for the unforeseen future, to a new place, (or at least travelling in search of one) in search of new friends, a new job, and likely a slightly revamped or at least reevaluated identity.  I`m so very curious.  When the time comes, I will feel it – or at very least have a reason so go (or stay).  But my time has not yet come!

I`ve simply got too much love waiting for me at home.

…

 So I`m here stuck seeking purpose.  For all the deep and introspective conversation you end up having as curious and adventurous young travellers living together in hostels - always reeling towards recovery from some eye-opening new experience (be it a three-week party in the bush, a spirit-quest in the hills, falling madly in love with someone you only hope to find again, or three years in the Peace Corps…) – you so rarely have the gall to be entirely content with your own unique journey.  Your admirers are those you admire, and everyone`s maps and travel books fill up with marks and papers delineating routes and bus schedules, hostel names and contacts.  All in places you`ve never been.  Hopes and dreams and fantasies compound you left and right, and it can be hard to keep yourself grounded.  If you even want to.

Some people go places to relax – entire three or eight or twelve months to relax.  I can`t do only that.  I go stir crazy. 

Some people go places to explore, or to see and experience certain things and fulfill lifelong dreams.  Some to work.  Some to party.  Some to learn a new skill.  Some go to snowboard, surf, ski, or climb.  Some go to get away.

I, for one, have some insatiable curiosity about the people and places of the world that I don`t already know.  I travel not to `conquer` per se, but to immerse myself within and know these places - by sight, smell, sound, and experiential memory… the last of which really makes them my own.  The wonder I feel is overpowering, and simply reading about or planning a trip gets me going like nothing else.  I have to be careful not to drown in it. 

So no matter how much I work and wish and travel to get there, I can never really explain what it is exactly I`m doing “here“.  Which is fine.  Hey, I`m a traveller, why not.  But for a conflicted Librarian soul such as myself, this leaves me a little lost and self-conscious from time to time.  Do I need to do something bigger?  What even counts as bigger?  And who needs to see it, if anyone?  Who does it need to be for, if not only me?  Can I change to world by simply living within it?

“What am I really doing here?“ I occasionally hear my self-conscious angel whisper.  She is green with red stripes.  She wears a dress, but it is the same colour as her skin.  She pulls at my right ear when she knows she can get to me; especially in the early mornings, if I wake up sleepy and out of it, and sometimes after really fun evenings. 

“I`m learning!  I`m writing!  I`m experiencing!  I`m getting to know myself!  I`m figuring out my life and who I am!“ I screech defensively back at her!  My less paranoid self always laughs at this, and jumps in to say, “You`re just being!“.

My more fun-loving adventurous angel is on my left – she is blue, with yellow streaks, and I like her better.  This chick is stubborn, and she always wins.

If you`re a traveller, or have done the `travel thing`, why do you travel?  What an interesting question…