Travel doesn't mean the same thing to me it means to you, almost for sure. It doesn't mean adventure. It doesn't mean enrichment. It means nervousness.
I was what you might call a connoisseur of personal ads for some years and I got a glimpse of the degree to which people gauge and sell their self-worth in terms of where they've traveled, so I have the good sense to recognize this as not something I should be proud of, and though defensiveness may at times look like pride, I'm not.
This summer I turn 40 and it seems like a good time to stop pretending a number of things. Hey world, I am bored at art museums! Things like that. What it is I really don't like is travel.
If I could teleport, sure. Who doesn't want a change of backdrop, different weather, to see friends who live far away? But I can't divorce these things from the act of getting there.
So this is about my ardent love of not going places, partly. But it turns out you almost have to travel. So it's also the travel journal of someone who would rather, in almost all instances, be at home.
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