Travelling is stressful. I’ll be the first to admit it. The hassle of fitting a life into a single suitcase; the annoyingly long layover, or, frighteningly short connections; the food (if you can call it that); the crying babies; the sleeplessness and restlessness in your soul to reach the journey’s end. Yet, it is all worth it once you do. Whether you return home (or in my case, one of many homes), or, step into a new adventure, it is always worth it once you do.
As I drive down a London highway on a rare English summer day I cannot help but feel the hope that the end is in sight. And, once it is all said and done (the feat of surviving an embassy, the seemingly unnecessary over night stay, the same-clothes-for-two-days-straight experience), then I start to believe it wasn’t all for nothing.
For, as the plane touches down and the final part of my journey comes to an end, my adventure begins. I am free.
Free to extend my hidden wings, to stretch and exercise them. Shake the dust off the gilded feathers so the world can see them in all their glory. I’ll be free to soar, incandescent, as the light of new adventure and the warmth of new knowledge catches the glistening wings of my exploration. Like stretching your muscles before you exercise, each tendon and ligament contracting individually, causing a slow, delicate ripple of strength: exciting.
Yes, travelling is a hassle. Because you have to keep those wings folded, guarded, hidden, lest the adventure be clipped before it’s time. But, once the wings are free to extend in their full unabashed glory of curiosity, of wanderlust, then nothing can hold you down.
