Webster’s dictionary defines wanderlust as a “strong longing for, or an impulse toward wandering” and wonder, as “a cause of astonishment or admiration.” In the case of travel, it seems these are very closely related. Why else would a rational person spend sometimes thousands of dollars, only to return home exhausted, constipated, sniffly, and possibly back, leg, and footsore, if not in search of wondrous things? Why indeed? I ask myself this question right before we leave for every vacation, as I’m frantically stuffing (my husband rolls his things, I stuff) my whole life into a 12 X 24″ canvas rectangle on wheels, or worse, a well-intentioned, but now ridiculously small backpack. “I guess I’d rather just stay home,” I always think to myself, or as I said to my mother the night before my husband and I departed for Europe, “I think I really just want to take a day trip to Greenville instead.” She laughed, but she knows exactly what I mean, because she has said something similar herself.
All those dreams of grandeur, so many months ago, when I perused the world, or the country on my laptop, searching for the perfect spot, dreaming of wandering, wondering and marveling at new sites, my equally amazed and jovial partner at my side, have suddenly evaporated into a mist of palpable folly, a reality smack in the face, as my husband and I quibble about who will be responsible for the liquids, who has to stuff my flatiron into their already bulging bag, and why do we have to take all of this damn candy? Sort of an emperor’s new clothes situation, where everyone says how wonderful it is, and only the honesty of a child or a simpleton (née genius) will reveal the truth; that planning and execution are two very different things.
The joy of planning and the anxiety of packing aside, in this day of social media, there is at least the pleasure of plastering smiling selfies everywhere, Facebook proof that we are having a wonderful time!!! My husband complains that we always look the same in every selfie, and that we could easily get away with using only one picture with multiple different backdrops. I can only attribute this statement to the undeniable fact that my face looks decent from only one angle, something my daughter calls “a snapchat face,” and the sad truth that my husband does not know how to fake a smile without looking like a psycho. Thus, we look the same in every shot as far as pose, but with a smorgasbord of emotion plastered on my husbands face, depending on what day of vacation we are on. His countenance runs the gamut from bemused and tolerant on day 1, to somber, midway through, to downright surly by the end. See what I mean?!?
Me? Every shot shows me with my head turned slightly to the side, a knowing half-smile, meant to portray confidence, yet fun! fun! fun! on my face. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the trip itself, or else what is the point? But I, like many travelers before me, have reconciled the fact that there are, and will be multiple annoyances, including, but not limited to the traveling companion, along the way.
Maybe it’s the way my husband and I attack our vacation. First of all, our destinations thus far, have not been conducive to peace, harmony and rest. We tend to pick bustling cities (Rome! Florence! NYC! D.C.!) or amusement parks ( Six Flags! Disney! Bush Gardens!) where the goal is to see as many things as you can, and really get our money’s worth. We pounce on each trip as if we are contestants on the reality show, “The Amazing Race.” Striking forth purposefully, a trusty backpack on someones back, which is loaded with drinks, money and a selfie stick, we march forth. We cover at least 10 miles a day, often closer to 15, seeing the sites, taking photos as evidence, and then on to conquer the next wonder. So much time is spent on foot, that my only consideration when packing footwear is comfort, and my only consolation is the fact that I always lose weight while on vacation. We pride ourselves on never using public transportation even to the point that my husband and I recently bickered about taking Uber to the airport. It’s true, it was only 3 miles from our hotel, BUT, we had already walked 13 miles that day, AND there was the little matter of navigating the interstate, backpacks on our backs, looking like a couple of well groomed hobos. I won this round, Thank God!
I think we must like this, since we keep planning the same kind of get-away. Certainly anyone who suffers from, or who is the loved one of someone with ADHD, knows that this is necessary for the sanity of both people. No leisurely cruises or lying prostrate in the sand for us. The shore is not the friend of a person who must perpetually move, unless hang gliding, scuba diving or possibly deep-sea fishing is involved. Also, a vigorous march, enough to produce a sweat, and a horrible case of chaffing, in search of interesting items vomited from the ocean must be accomplished until the sunburned, cranky and sandy bottomed family returns home; the parents having vowed not to return next year.
I just realized that I must seem like a Negative Nelly, or a Debbie Downer (Suzie Sunset he just called me when I read this to him). I’m really not, I’m actually a rose-colored glasses kinda girl, an eternal optimist, a “Suzie sunrise.” So much so, that even on the way home, an overstuffed backpack at my feet (the very one that caused my bag to be emptied and searched because I forgot about a few items that were supposed to be declared) because he couldn’t stuff it into the overhead, a nicotine withdrawing husband at my side, and an 11pm flight, after we just hiked a half marathon, we started planning our next trip. No matter that we always lose at least half a day to a sullen silence while we are “enjoying ourselves” born from too many days together, or that we just spent a pile of money so that we could be excited to go home. No, there is something about traveling that although uncomfortable, stressful and intolerable at times, makes you want to do it all over again. There is a natural amnesia that I liken to childbirth. The planning is great, the execution can be brutal, but minutes after it is over, the bad stuff is history, and by the time you want another, you’ve forgotten most of it. It’s a travel bug, and we have it. We lust for new adventures and new places. It’s a wanderlust I guess, or maybe just a wonderlust. Either way, there will be more traveling in our future, if only to provide anecdotal fodder for my blog. Stay tuned.
