I am an addict.
To many things probably, but to travel especially.
I don’t know when my addiction with travel started. I would guess it was long before I knew what travel is or could be.
I used to go traveling out of town with my mother as a child. The hotels and modes of transportation intrigued me. The new faces, sites, and smells propelled me to always be curious.
It was all new.
Travel can be kind to you. It can also be hurtful. Sometimes It was beautiful in the moment; but now just memories. Moving on to the next destination. Sitting on a plane, pondering.
“Maybe some day I’ll return to Colombia,” I think.
I’ll have changed and it will have, too. The many friends I met have helped me along my path. Thinking on it now is bittersweet. I am better for having met these people but part of me hurts because I may never see them again. I guess that is life—the moment is always fleeting, so take advantage of the present. You remember snapshots, segments of what you’ve previously learned. A small section of your life…
The cabin begins to shake. The city lights of Mexico City sprawl out as far as the eyes can see and my plane rapidly descends from the clouds.
The only qualm I have with travel is that it effects you forever. It reworks the way you view and perceive life—along with the world. Once you start you can never go back to who you once were. Every interaction, feeling, or thought for forever is changed.
For me it will be an endless search of enlightenment and knowledge. For me it will be an endless endeavor that I will never quite satisfy.