Sound the alarm.

Guys…

I’M SITTING IN MY OWN BED. WRAPPED IN MY OWN BLANKETS. THIS VERY MOMENT. I AM SITTING HERE. RIGHT NOW. IN MY BED. MY OWN FUCKING BED.
Could it be true? Could it really be true?

To my disappointment, yes. It’s true. It’s very true. “The truth hurts.” I deeply understand that feel. Anyway, as of today, I have officially wrapped up  an adventure that completely changed my life. It was everything needed I it to be: spontaneous, isolated, enriching, hard work, dangerous, warm, filled with love and good food, and sometimes lonely. Travel has such a weird way of affecting who you are as a person, inside and fucking out, man. It rounds you out in the best and absolute worst ways possible- at times you feel the happiest you’ve ever felt in your entire life; You feel so free and uninhibited, and simply able. Able to do anything. Able to feel anything. But then sometimes when the moon hits your face just right, the clouds roll in, it’s raining (of course!) and then you realize you’re lost in the middle of fucking nowhere, no friends, no cell phone connection- then your good feels dissipate in front of your eyes and you’re lonely and helpless as shit. You’re like a lamb left out in the rain waiting for death’s sweet embrace. (I swear by everything that is sriracha, nothing is worse than feeling absolutely helpless in unfamiliar land. I swear.) So, of course, you panic, you swear to yourself you’ll never be this reckless again, you cry a little and hold onto your person a little tighter… You’re ultimately shoved out of your comfort zone and forced to seek help by whatever means possible. It’s 3AM and WHERE IS THE FUCKING HOSTEL, IT WAS RIGHT HERE, I SWEAR. You resort to sleeping in an office that’s under construction and you utter a sweet little prayer begging that no hobos lick you in your sleep.

Okay, in the moment it is absolute hell, but give it a couple days to ferment and age, and then you’ve got the best fucking story to tell your friends over a bottle of cheap champagne. Oh, and we will definitely talk about those stories later…

So, travel changes you (I think that’s what I was getting on about). But it’s actually quite funny how often I find myself changing… It’s funny because every time I notice it, I think, “…really? Again? I thought this shit was over? Who am I? Where am I? WHAT DOES A DICK LOOK LIKE?” It’s okay if you don’t get that last terrible reference.

But, wow. Really. I am forever changing. We all are. Sometimes more obvious than most, but still always changing. (Could you imagine if we never changed? Like, if we were just a certain way for the rest of our lives and there was nothing we could do about it? God, what a fucking nightmare). I’ve started to pick up on how frequent certain feelings/people/friendships/etc lose relevance while others gain it, and I think environment and exposure determine a lot of both. Which brings me back to my original thought- traveling. I will never stop preaching about traveling and how it will turn your world inside out. I am so annoyingly and overbearingly passionate about finding whatever’s out there that it genuinely breaks my heart that so many people I know and love aren’t traveling; So many people are complacent doing things in a confined, scheduled lifestyle. Which, don’t get me wrong, works so stinkin’ well for certain people who I sometimes get so feverishly jealous of because there’s some kind of order in their lives (and only trickles in mine). But how I feel about traveling is how most people feel about, say, I don’t know, weed or religion or flax seeds. Hey, maybe even DMT. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.” “It changed my life.” “You’ll never get higher in your life.” Dear god, the highs I get from traveling… And I’m not even going to make a really bad pun about being thousands of miles in the air in an airplane (especially not an Aeroplane Over the Sea).

Sorry, had to.

But when you experience something that washes away all the petty insecurities, takes you of your element for a little while, expands your mind and dusts the dead thoughts out of the creases, makes you realize that there is so much fucking more out there than your shitty little bedroom, you’re going to want to tell everyone you know, right? Share the wealth, prosper together, etc, etc. Which is why I get frustrated when I see my friends hurt over worldy worries. I want to shake them violently and scream, “WHY ARE YOU SAD? DID YOU KNOW THERE ARE MOUNTAINS AND MOUNTAINS FULL OF ROAMING COWS THAT NEVER FALL OFF? DID YOU KNOW THAT? THEY JUST KIND OF STAND THERE AND EAT GRASS AND NEVER FALL OFF. ISN’T THAT INCREDIBLE?”

I was never good at being convincing or persuasive.

So, what I’m trying to say is- if you can, travel. Travel often and travel light. Take only a few pieces of clothing and two pairs of shoes. Leave behind the book you think you’ll read and the bad feels that have built up over the last few months (that shit is extra baggage you don’t want to pay for). Take the essentials and go. You’ll be impressed with where it’ll take you. But more importantly- don’t be a fucking tourist.
Listen to me when I tell you- do not be a fucking tourist. Don’t go to Paris just to see the Eiffel Tower. Go to Paris, buy a bottle of wine (that you can drink on the street), buy a fucking a baguette, walk around the canals and pass by the Eiffel Tower. Don’t go to Rome just to see the Colisium. Go to Rome, get a group of people from your hostel and a couple of Breezers, walk to the Coliseum, and sit in your new circle of friends sharing good drinks and even better travel stories. Being a tourist is so fucking boring, I promise. You will hate it. It is an absolute rip off (not to mention that almost all tourist sites are INFESTED with gypsies that will ROB the living SHIT out of you, and they will not care. They will not care so hard that your feelings will get hurt and those repressed childhood memories will linger for just a little bit longer. I promise). Okay, okay, maybe “hate” was a strong word, but from my experience it wasn’t the actual site seeing that I remembered and cherished, it was the memories made around getting lost trying to see the sites, meeting people and getting their personalized tour of the city. Seeing history is always wonderful, but making history is what I enjoy most. And I hope everyone gets that experience one day. I want to travel with so many people and show them the world- my favorite cafe in Nice, France, the craziest bar in Kiltimagh, the market in Athens. All of it. So, these next few posts will be a little bit of that, my extension of the world to you. Happy travels.

“The traveler sees what he sees. The tourist sees what he has come to see.”
– G.K. Chesterton.