Atlantica - 01.02.2006, Blaðsíða 26

24 AT L A N T I CA
on the fly
When I was growing up, my family
thought of travel as something
you do to get to a relative’s funeral.
Traveling for pleasure was not part of
my childhood. My family was working-
class, and luxury-phobic.
I, on the other hand, assumed
travel held some potential because
I had resolute plans to work my way
free from my family’s limitations,
assumptions, and fears. I believed my
adult self would stand in sharp contrast
to the way my parents negotiated the
world.
My parents died when I was in my
early 20s – my father suddenly, and my
mother seven months later. I went to
New York with a friend to get over the
loss of my mother. We had no agenda,
so we came up with the “green light
tour.” We’d walk to a corner and turn
the direction of the green light.
We did this for days. Going nowhere
in particular healed me. Sometimes
we ended up going in circles. We
found unexpected small pleasures.
This was all I could expect from life at
the time, and it felt great to have my
feet perform what my heart knew.
Still, after traveling with friends to
New York and later to Europe, I began
to wonder why people held travel – for
the sake of traveling – in such high
esteem. I think a trip should have a
purpose. I felt uncomfortable around
travel enthusiasts because I didn’t feel
the same rush or satisfaction about
getting away from it all. Travelers
seemed stuck. They appeared to be
slaves to the fashion of travel.
I continued to travel regularly in my
20s because I was attracted to people
who swore by it. I guess it was peer
pressure; I felt that wanderlust was a
life requirement. I’m a people person,
and my people loved to go.
When I was in graduate school
studying to be a therapist, an
instructor opened up a lecture on
career counseling with the saying,
“People spend more time planning
their vacations than they do their
lives.” It seemed true to me. My friends
hovered over travel books, discussed
the coolest destinations, accumulated
equipment and saved money. But
when the conversation turned to
career choices, preferences in partners
or dealing with aging parents, they
seemed lost and confused.
So I came out against travel. I began
to tease my friends that they should
build themselves, rather than go and
try to find themselves. I had a rule that
I would not look at a travel picture.
I insisted people tell me where they
were going rather than show me
where they had been.
Traveling friends grew wise and
avoided the topic. Naturally, they
wondered how I justified my own
travel, so I developed a philosophy that
incorporated my people-first values. I
talked of travel as the backdrop to the
real drama in life. “Good plays have
different sets,” I would say. A good
drama for me is all about dialogue. It’s
just as likely to a happen at home, on
the plane, or in the car.
Today, I have kids of my own and a
partner who, as he would say, “loves
to travel.” He told me he was a traveler
during our first conversation 11 years
ago. It was an immediate red flag to
me. I thought he must be avoiding the
tough issues in his life if he needs to
get away.
But in middle age, I’ve begun to
relax my campaign against the cult of
travel. As I get older I’m less and less
in the company of those who can’t
stay put. My friends are more likely
to worry about their mortgage these
days than their frequent flyer miles.
I have lightened up as well. I tend to
evaluate travel trip-by-trip, rather than
backing away from the whole topic.
And I like to bring my kids on trips.
I like teaching them the life-long
skills of tolerating long car rides…
the correct ways to walk around on a
plane. It teaches them flexibility and
anticipation and disappointment. It
bonds us as a family to change a flat
tire, to not find a hotel room, to cram
into a taxi, to climb an ancient temple
together.
Our purpose is to be together
and try new things. And, I admit,
sometimes that means leaving our
neighborhood. a
CONFESSIONS OF AN ANTI-TRAVELER
Told by Cliff Leonardi to Adam Key Raney
“People spend more time planning their
vacations than they do their lives.”
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009 airmail Atlantica 206.indd 24 22.2.2006 15:18:07