Travel, My Drug of Choice
In my experience, to be a traveler is to be perpetually tired, with eyes wide open. Never quite rested, always ready to move on. It’s not unlike a romp in the hay with **cough**phetamines—followed by a comedown just as painful to the soul. The difference, of course, is that travel becomes a memory to cherish, rather than a cringe-worthy mistake that haunts previous life decisions. Both teach invaluable lessons about ourselves and the world, but only one fills me with pride and sparks positive transformation - now that’s a direction to chase!
That’s the essence of good travel—at least, my kind of travel. Stepping onto unfamiliar soil and grappling with jumbled languages, hand gestures, and a friendly smile has been my favorite form of humility. Being broke, lost, and embarrassingly in need of a strangers’ kindness is a position few seek, but these states cultivate a globe-trekker. Someone who embodies the spirit of adventure and who has a strong desire to explore the world, immerse themselves in different cultures, and discover unique experiences.There are countless ways to experience meaningful travel, but this recipe has served me well across continents, providing insights and some insults beyond my grasp in those moments.
Great travel, however, demands grit and resolve. Like a good shroom session, it can open your eyes to the world you’ve always inhabited, but have never felt so deeply. It will make you spin from the beauty, the flavors, the imagined and unimagined fears, and challenge your expectations. It requires a willingness to be both passenger and driver—sometimes simultaneously (there’s a Thailand story here)—and a refusal to accept life as you know it, as all there is to know. It’s far too easy to settle into the comforts of home, the stability of a job, reliable transportation, clean foods, the simple fact that someone nearby knows your name or expects you at a certain hour. For some, this is a safe and comfortable dream; for others, a ball and chain - confining and fixing you to a single place, rhythm, and road. For me, I teeter between the two, regularly choosing to shake myself out of the comfortable to follow the white rabbit that is traveling. As my drug of choice, I choose travel. And hey, *chit chit* come here, what you want? Look at what I got for you, let me be your pusher man - pop that travel pill, it’s some good shit.
Travel far, travel hard, travel broke…just travel.
P.S. As I was writing this, I couldn’t stop hearing Iggy Pop in my ear… “I am the Passenger”... A song often said to be about the tangled dance between man and drug.
But — it’s also, literally, about the ride.
The flicker of a city’s life, caught frame by frame through a car window.
It’s about movement.
Wheels rolling, roads unfolding,
the timeless journey that is travel—
You, me, Iggy—just passing through it all.
