On Wandering and Purpose - Travel Reflections and Living Unconventionally
All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.”- JRR Tolkein
As a deep lover of the fantasy genre, I seem to have built a life that sort of resembles a main character in one of my favorite novels. Don’t ask me which one because choosing a favorite novel is like a parent choosing a favorite child. You probably have one, but don’t want to hurt the others’ feelings by vocalizing it. My interests resemble a chaotic mash-up of medieval sport, elfin rituals, and ‘70s-’80s joy. But I’ve always been a bit odd.
That said, I’ve mentioned before that I’m used to solitude. As an only child, I’ve lived most of my life exploring my inner world. Despite having a pretty dynamic family, I often relished retreating to my own space. That isn’t to say that it was all green grass and sunshine. My inner world is often a turbulent, moody place. There are days when grey storm clouds clash against purple sunsets. River banks overflow and branches tremble against the winds. And yet, people who don’t know me well often see only an outward exterior of calm. It’s an interesting dichotomy to exist in. A duality that has left me feeling at home in a distorted glass house.
But as someone who has existed in this mind, I’m used to wandering. I travel from place to place, interest to interest, picking up bits and pieces to build a life that suites me. For example, archery is my latest passion. I quite love the way that a recurve bow fits in my palm, the arch of my back, and how satisfying hitting a target is. My wandering has exposed me to things that exist outside the stereotypes that society has crafted for someone who looks like me. To be honest, I’ve always enjoyed pushing against the boundaries of what people deemed as acceptable. I enjoy living and loving unconventionally.
Near the end of 2023, I spent most of my days away from home leaning into the unfamiliar and discovering more of myself along the way. Between October 1st and late November, I visited five US cities, two national parks, and two countries. I had several firsts. I solo camped, traveled internationally alone, and rock scrambled up a mountain. I placed myself in more uncomfortable situations than I care to count and navigated grief and joy in equal measure. My trips served several purposes, including challenging myself to embark on new experiences; embracing solitude; and processing matters of the heart. Stripping away the safety net of another person provided new opportunities, but also a fair bit of unexpected challenges.
Each morning of my personal travels, I tried to unwind slowly. Whether it was listening to the sounds of birds greeting me in the morning outside my tent or a slow stretch in bed at my Airbnb, I did my best not to immediately jump into the events of the day without first appreciating the fact that I was still here. There was one morning in particular that slips to the forefront of my memories. It was near the tail end of my camping trip to the Finger Lakes in New York. I had just rolled out of my tent to make coffee and the crisp air greeted me gently. Tendrils of fog caressed the pines around me and I made a small fire to chase away the cold. Pulling out my journal, I needed to capture the feelings of the moment. Alone, tucked away on a mushroom farm where few knew where I was, I felt a level of peace and contentment that still sings in my heart. A month and a half later and several thousand miles away, I remember the way the sun stretched through big windows as I ate fresh fruit with sticky fingers while sipping espresso in Portugal.
It is no surprise that nature was so heavily featured on these trips. It is where I feel most at home and I’m a bit of a masochist in the way that I push my body. My hikes last autumn ranged from six to upward of nine miles. Sometimes I broke over 2,300 feet of elevation gain while rock scrambling a mountain and other times I hiked for over four hours along the Irish coast with minimal snacks. But, the views, the moments, they were all worth it. I remember hiking the Bog of Frogs loop in Howth, Ireland and it had been storming all morning. I wasn’t sure if I was going to make the full eight miles when the rain suddenly stopped and the sun broke through the clouds. I couldn’t stop smiling because the way the light hit the vibrant green foliage along the trail left me breathless. I must admit though, the sun definitely cooked during two of the last four miles of that hike, haha. But, between the coast and the unexpected enchanted forest that acted a cool reprieve, it was one of the most memorable experiences of my life.
When I’m traveling alone, I notice that I naturally fall into my introverted self. I speak very little and spend my days quietly observing as moments unfold. This is quite counter to how I exist in my home life where many of my days are filled to the brim with meetings and social engagements that force me to interact. I enjoy the days most when I can flow through time giggling with a close friend or speaking very little beyond the occasional song. During these moments, I’m not thinking about how I’m presenting socially and my nervous system is not on high alert. As I’ve gotten older, the more more susceptible I am to sensory overload, so I’m a bit more discerning on how I expend my energy.
I’ve actually found that being in a country as unfamiliar as Portugal is quite challenging without what I started calling a “cultural tether.” My definition of a “cultural tether” is someone from my home culture to help anchor me to place and connect over shared experiences. For me, I found that Portuguese is such a difficult language for my brain to grasp. I am quite comfortable with the other romantic languages (Spanish, Italian, French), but while in Portugal, I was so intimidated that I found myself short circuiting during moments of connection. That isn’t to say that I didn’t have moments of delight. I surely did, especially during instances where feelings take precedent. For example, laughing with others as we waited nearly two hours in line to enter a 12-seat restaurant or at a traditional fado concert where the singer’s fervor transcended language barriers. The sound of her voice bellowing and swept us away on a sea of familiar emotions. But the most notable was quieter. One evening in Lisbon, I was heading back to my Airbnb (traversing the intense hills) when I stumbled upon what felt like a secret balcony that overlooked the Alfama neighborhood. The setting sun coated everything in a warm glow and an older gentleman was playing the guitar in the corner. I was one of three people on the balcony. I couldn’t help but sigh and take it all in. The delicious romance of that moment captured so much of what I felt about the city. It’s historic buildings covered in vibrant azulejos, it’s fresh seafood, and expressive culture, all felt so alive.
Even in moments of discomfort and uncertainty, I wouldn’t trade these experiences for anything in the world. I’ve spent the better part of my life wandering with purpose and grappling with some of the most major life questions. I have had the privilege to travel extensively and immerse myself in other cultures. I’ve sat with strangers discussing life and love over beignets and oysters in New Orleans. I’ve climbed down to secret beaches in the Pacific Northwest, chatted with an ahjussi (older man) while hiking along the Bukhansan Mt. in Seoul, listened to the stories of women who escaped horrific conditions in Tijuana, and cleaned mangroves with coworkers as we kayaked in Biscayne Bay. Each experience has ultimately left me changed. It has reminded me that at the end of the day we are here to live fully and love deeply. We are here to connect and support one another. We are here to be. Whatever that means to you.
So, I encourage you to wander. I encourage you to explore, even if it is in your own backyard. Try a new hobby. Visit a new park. Eat something unique to you. This life is full of rich and beautiful experiences waiting to be uncovered.
“When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real,
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”
