I started my journey in hopes of escaping. "Escaping what?", you might ask. The answer is that I'm not sure myself. I guess that's what I was trying to figure out: What I was running from.
It started after college. I had been saving up for years to go on a trip. A week after my graduation, I finally decided to go on a trip to Venice, a place I'd always wanted to visit. The beauty of the culture and city had always appealed to me. "I'll be back in a month." I had told my friend and family. It had been a year since I left, a year of exploring distant cities.
Originally, I did start in Venice and with the intention of going home. Then a month passed, and another, and another. I wasn't ready to go home. I had run out of money long ago, but I found other means of supporting myself.
I eventually got restless and decided it was time to leave. I packed up my few belongings and hit the road. My goal was to get to Berlin. I hitchhiked most of the time, but when I was feeling ambitious, I would sit on a street corner and play my guitar for money. This usually provided enough for bus fare.
I was alone for most of my journey, with the occasional company of a brief acquaintance or hotel owner. I wasn't bothered by this. Something being alone was relaxing. I didn't have to worry about anyone else, just myself.
In my year of traveling I had visited many cities, Rome, Berlin, Venice. I had seen the breathtaking sights. But none of these places filled the void that I felt within myself. I felt the need to keep traveling. So that's what I did. I kept running away.
I only contacted my family and friends occasionally now. They didn't understand why I had ran away, but neither did I. They called me "irresponsible" and "a hopeless dreamer". I tried my best to block them out. They didn't understand why I was doing what I was doing.
In Venice I found myself. I found what I was destined to do. I was a traveler, I was doing what I was born to do. I felt at home on the road. Not knowing what was in store, but that's why I loved it. The feeling of freedom and surprise around every corner.
I knew I had to go home eventually. Eventual I'd have to face everyone again. For now, I chose to ignore that fact. I chose to ignore the monotonous responsibilities of "real life".
After a year, I had made my way into Paris, the city of light. I arrived by bus and found the nearest hotel. I checked in and took my stuff up to my designated room. I then went to go wander through the beautiful city. The buildings in the city were beautiful, straight out of the most beautiful painting. Even the people here were beautiful.
I stopped into a nearby cafe. I ordered a coffee and sat down at a table by a window. The air smelled of smoke and something sweet. Something about the smell reminded me of bittersweet childhood memories. I sipped my coffee and looked out the window. People rushed by, all in a hurry. Why were they all in a hurry to go nowhere?
I continued people watching until I was pulled away from my thoughts. A little girl had sat down across from me at my table. She stared at me with twinkling eyes full of curiosity. She looked me over for a very long time. "Qui es-tu?", she spoke in a small, quiet voice.
My years of French in high school had finally paid off. "Voyageur.", I replied.
The young girl nodded her head. A woman rushed over to her and muttered something to her in French. The little girl got out of the table and stood by who I assumed was her mother. "Pardon." The woman spoke to me, but she looked past me, out the window. I nodded my head and the two rushed off.
That was the longest conversation I had held in weeks. I reminisced on the conversation. The curiosity of the little girl, so innocent. She didn't judge my decision, she just accepted it.
I decided to explore the city some more, then head back to my hotel. The sun had began setting and the city lit up with an angelic light. I understood why they called it the city of lights.
Now I sit outside on the balcony of my hotel room, watching the last of the sun disappear into the horizon of the sleepy city. I thought about my journey so far and play my guitar. The guitar's melancholy song echoed through the streets.
I sit here and think. This adventure I'd embarked on made me feel alive. Maybe I wasn't destined to live a mundane life and settle down. Maybe I was born to roam. Then it hit me so suddenly: I wasn't running away, I was running to destiny.
