All things come to pass. All journeys have a start and and end, and my journey ends tomorrow. Or at least, the physical act of travelling ends tomorrow. Maybe there is more to exploring and travelling than simply getting from A to B? Because once i get home, then i get to sort my photos, my paintings, i start telling and retelling stories. Some of them i will forget details of names and places, whilst others may become more fanciful with each retelling.
Because once the physical journey ends, the act of memory takes over, the writing of the narrative that changes the journey from something that i planned to do, through something that i’m doing, and onwards to something that i did, but that will remain part of me forever.
We learn through experience and through this rewriting of our personal narratives (if i were in more formal work mode, i would talk about how we reconcile new knowledge against old, how we modify our worldview and how this changes how we communicate but, for a few days more, i’m on holiday…). These stories, these narratives are woven through our very being, indeed, they make us who we are, so we spend considerable time and effort in getting them right.
When you are travelling, all of your routines fall by the wayside: everything that you have made efficient and safe for day to day consumption is no longer relevant. You have to adapt and change and, as a consequence, every day can seem longer, a week can feel like a month. Days, which slip by in the blink of an eye back at home, can take forever here.
We can learn from this different perspective, from understanding how the journey changes us, how it alters us and how it allows us to stand back and look at ourselves from a different perspective. So maybe the real journey is just beginning.