What the fuck are “vacations”? This isn’t normal.

What is “travel”? What is it, that thing that we do? A parallel you. A package. A commoditized sample. You return unchanged.

Sometimes a good life seems to be a sunlit path in the woods, a mug of hot cider, having only what you need: family, friends, and a garden in the golden hour. Bugs and foxes skittering about, trees standing guard. Thick sweet books in a windowed nook. Tending, tending. Guarding.

Guarding? Chaos breathes down your neck. You wonder what would happen if you just – let go of the wheel? Are you a leaf on a breeze? A perpetual tourist? Light and open wide?

HOW TO BE A PROPER PERPETUAL TOURIST
Accept anything that leads to change; do not grow attached. Listen carefully; tune in to faraway frequencies. There’s something else outside of jobmoneyhobbiesrestaurantsfamilyfriends. Dump out the buckets. There’s something else. When do you feel it? In abstractions, at critical masses, in novelty, at the huge and tiny but nowhere in between. Some sort of communion. Primal and godly.

What makes you feel awake? Orient your life toward that feeling and you should be okay.

Peace is not found in stability but in the embrace of change.

Gotta go – hotel continental breakfast closes in 10 minutes.

Peas & Luv,
Al Toker