Knowing the World

Call it the spirit of adventure, but in my earlier days I can remember how exhilarating it was to travel to distant lands. Maybe it was the different faces or skin colors, the distinct smell in the air, the architecture, or the (mostly) delicious and often unique food. Possibly it was funny looking cars, the more delicious coffee, or the barely understandable language. Maybe, it was all of it at the same time.

Or, for me, maybe it was the feeling of shedding my own culture and finally feeling free.

My first trip abroad (not counting Canada) was to Spain in 1992. I was 16 years old, and we were there for less than two weeks. I went as a group with about nine other students from my high school, and two teachers. I was (almost) completely surrounded by ‘America’ there in that group, and yet I still felt like my life had changed, even as it was happening. We had amazing experiences speaking with locals in their own language, and meeting & hanging out with people our own age in parks.

I wanted so desperately to think that these experiences were special. At the time, and even later on into my twenties, I thought I was special for having visited these far away lands. Instead what I’m learning all these years later is that I wasn’t doing anything different than anyone else who had also traveled across oceans to see what other countries were like. And, after all this time, I get this eerie feeling that I just wasn’t educated about the world the way I should have been.

Now when I travel, I see the world much more the way it is, the way is always was. I’m not tremendously exhilarated by different people like I used to be, and new cities don’t excite me as much, even though they’re (mostly) still really cool. New currencies? Once exchanged they still need to be spent. Wine in Italy, well that's a different story.

The world around us really isn’t that different after all, except for those who haven’t seen it.

Keep the faith.