Ramblings from the Road

Sometimes a strange thing happens when I travel. The kind of travel that consists of packing up every couple of nights and starting all over again in a new place.

I don’t write as much.

Just small snippets of words carelessly jotted down. Nothing definite or refined. Nothing solid or coherent. Today and last Wednesday, preparing my blog posts, were my only real attempts.

This is puzzling to me. I write almost as often as I breathe. Pen in hand at all times. Making sense of my world through ink on paper. So why the sudden drying up of script when I’m on the go?

I’ve been keeping a running commentary on Facebook in order to capture the broader details (and photos) of each day’s treasures. But then I’m done. Nothing else comes forth. And when I don’t write, I feel as if my life is temporarily suspended, floating in some otherworldly dimension. Surreal. Untouchable.

I process events and emotions through writing, yet I’ve hardly had a moment (or the space) to do anything more than fall exhausted into bed each night. Perhaps it is the sudden and steady assault to my senses. My brain, my being, struggles to keep up with the constant newness of my surroundings, my experiences. That’s okay though. I know I’ll get back to it.

We are currently in Hollywood, exactly midway through our California road trip. Day 8 of 15. Seven days behind us, seven ahead. My oldest son (who lives here) was busy today with work and school. My husband and younger son and I were tired, wanting a slower day to catch up, mentally and physically. That suited me. I could finally write. I could begin to process what it means to have our family of four all together for the first time in two months, and – more importantly perhaps – for the last time in the foreseeable future. (Hopefully we will be able to meet up in Italy for Christmas, although there are no guarantees at this point. I miss us.)

So what did I do today? I read, I reorganized my clothes in my suitcase, I hung out with my family, I walked back to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre to see the handprints and footprints (they were having a movie premiere the day before and the forecourt was blocked off for the red carpet), I bought a washcloth, I watched an Old Navy print ad being filmed (right next to our parked car), I ate at In-N-Out Burger for the first time, and I saw my first L.A. cockroach. I planned to do our laundry too, but it didn’t happen. I’ll have to sneak it in tomorrow morning.

Maybe I’ll be able to write a bit too, as I wait for our clothes to tumble through the washer and dryer. I hope so. I honestly don’t feel like myself when I’m not recording my life. Better hurry though. Planning a trip up into the mountains above Los Angeles tomorrow afternoon.

I travel a lot. But I’m not a vacationer. My family rarely stays in hotels and usually doesn’t hang out in touristy spots. We prefer to live like the locals whenever we can. And I like to incorporate my everyday routine as much as possible wherever I am.

This trip’s been a mixture of both. But hey! I’m in California. It’s time to chill. The writing will be that much richer once I return home.

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Dave Booda (creator/writer of the website Boodaism) says: “Vacations are about escaping. Traveling is about diving in.”

Do you prefer to go on vacation or to travel? Other than the obvious new experiences you encounter, what differences do you notice when you travel? Do you feel unsettled when your normal routine is upset? Or do you just go with the flow and welcome the unexpected?
 
 
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