Center of Attention

YuppieNomad and I had dinner the other night and as usual, our conversations turned from the usual likes and dislikes to questions of identity before puttering out at true self-criticism.

It's been seven months since I sold off my stuff (my beautiful moped, bed and sofa!), opted out of my lease, and left a snowy New York for a frigid Beijing.  For me, as the one who left and as the one who is traveling, seven months doesn't seem like a long time.  In some ways, a lot has changed.  I certainly couldn't have guessed how things would have turned out seven months ago.  I have more scratches and bruises now than I've ever had before (it doesn't help when you're a bit of a klutz like I am), and I'd like to think that the psychological imitates the physical, that the seven months have also left their impressions on the mind. 

The experiences have been varied, but they seem to further exaggerate my identity rather than to change or alter in any significant ways.  I still have a penchant for naiveté, for childish humor, and for drama.  I am traveling because it is an extension of who I am now, not who I will be.

A large part of who I am are based on the relationships that I've acquired over the years.  When I took off, I made the conscious decision to keep that part of myself in stasis – hoping that when I get back, I can pick up where I left off.  The relationships that are found on the road are vague and convenient – self-serving at best.  Traveling adds a lot to the sensory experiences, but it skimps on the relationships that are formed from staying put. 

It's odd – I occasionally get update emails from friends back home, and only then do I realize that life for them also is moving, although in a different way.  I had taken for granted that my travels existed independent of time – but it doesn't – the engagements, marriages, mortgages, and promotions remind me that the currents keep on moving, even if I've branched off.

I wonder how my relationships have changed?  In some ways, they are the same – I still get the occasional updates about so-and-so's hookup with him-and-her, and notifications of depression on the job, and the somewhat amusing mass emails for the 'awesome party at the uber-cool lounge on Saturday'... I get tired of it, a little worn out by the seeming self-centeredness of it all.

Don't you realize that there are other things in the world? I want to shout. 

Then, after reading some travel posts from a friend, I realized how I must sound – how self-centered I must sound to the folks back home. "So I traveled to blah and blah and it was great and oh how this was awesome and that was pretty" and so on... I got fed up with myself if I had to read all of that...

Traveling, in some ways, is a selfish pursuit. In it's worst output, this focus on the self obliterates the thrill of travel – I've met many backpackers who focus so much on themselves that they make their trip out to be "me in such and such place" instead of "such and such place is there, and I happen to be in it". 

The first distinction is:  It's about my reactions to externalities, my engagements with life, my experiences, my thoughts... mine mine mine.   These travelers often have formed their opinions about a place before they've arrived.  In their minds, the cuisine is measured by their taste, the sights are measured by the things they've seen before, and the experiences are measured by their histories.  "God, I hate touristy places," they'd say, or "the food was horrible", or "the weather was absolutely horrid".  These are the same people a) rely on guidebook and pamphlets to sell them a destination, b) eat only breaded chicken and c) live in places like London or Seattle where the weather is God-awful.

The second distinction?  There is almost a conscious evaporation of judgment, of expectation, in preparation to meet a destination.  Sort of like the ascetic practices in Hinduism.  The self is merged in with the place, and in the process, the place adds greater dimensions to the self.  The ladle needs to be emptied before scooping up new flavors to add to the wine.  Wonky analogy, I know, but to me, that's what exciting about traveling for me – the process of emptying my biases and fears and expectations, only to have them filled again by the incredible volume of Creation.

A side note: I am getting old.  Why this realization?  My recent conversations have turned to my wants of furniture (I'm opting for a dark wood/red walls/rugs motif when I get back), a place of my own (the shackles of a mortgage and all), a dog with the gf (brown and white beagle in NY or sandy lab in SF), a change of opinion on loud parties (moved from heady participation to grudging acceptance to explicit distaste), and a preference for dinner parties over the club scene (preferably with an eclectic four/five-some).  This has been happening for a while, but only now have I given in...

So, now that I've bashed both travelers and the people back home... anyone up for a dinner get-to-gether when I get back?  I can make Lao food!