I really don’t know the exact day when the joy of travel died for me, but I know it’s been gone for a long time. Many people hate the process of getting to a new place, but enjoy the experience of being in a foreign location…I just dislike the whole process. I’ve leaned through deep experience that I am a creature of habit – I like my own bed, my routines, my Handsome Cat and handsome Per, and my beloved city of San Francisco. I’m a simple girl, and I really don’t need much more than these few things (oh, and maybe a bicycle).
My new job has me traveling more than I’ve had to for a few years, which leaves me with mixed emotions. By every standard metric, I am going to cool places like Singapore, Austin and Ireland. I’m visiting “cool” cities while engaged with my eminently cool, hipster customer.
And I feel like a bit of a curmudgeon because I’d rather just stay home. I’ve leaned that I really don’t have wandering feet, unless I get to travel in the fashion I love – apartment with cooking facilities, and stay in the same place for at least two weeks so that I can really get acclimated and “feel the rhythm of my surroundings.” These quick 2-4 day trips are really exhausting and not at all personally satisfying.
I guess I am a victim of habit. I know I should feel grateful that I have this opportunity to travel and socialize and explore…but it often just underscores how much I really miss and adore my daily life.