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A few weeks ago, I posted a photo of myself perched atop a small cliff on a beach in Southern California. I attributed a quote underneath this picture, which said this:

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking out new landscapes, but in having new eyes" -Marcel Proust

Fast forward to today, when upon my morning readings I found this quote by Jack Kerouac. Often venerated by swaths of individuals for his immense cultural influence and his ability to draw upon society's innate desire to break free from structure, I too have fallen more than once for these simple yet honest takes.

As I took a moment to reflect and ponder upon this text, I paused upon each word in turn. Especially the word "travel". You see, dear readers...I am not yet a traveller. I haven't embarked on any great journeys on God's green earth. Have I been to a few places, seen a few beautiful scenes? Absolutely. Immediately, it comes to mind a time in my youth when I backpacked 10 miles into the Havasupai canyon. Never before (and never again since) had I seen such wonderful unified structure and chaos in nature. 

I do possess with me an innate stubborn streak as deep as the canyon I visited then. I also feel that to travel now would be folly...I am an addictive creature by nature. And seeing how my means are, at this time, meager...I get the sense that it would become prohibitively expensive and an unforgiving vice.

So I dig my heels into the dirt directly beneath me and stay firmly rooted in Arizona.  For what it's worth, I find great beauty and realize great satisfaction from the smallest of excursions within these borders.  But still, there is a great portion within me that winces with each passing year.  I both do and do not wish to travel.  It's a vexing place to be.