I warned today’s guest poster, Ms. Sara OD, that if she did not give me a title for her post, I would make one up for her. As you can see, she did not give me a title, so we’re going with a Tom Petty song that does relate to the post but in a kind of cheesy way. Ah well!

I am pleased to introduce you to Ms. Sara OD, a veteran traveler and academic. She has lived in Germany and driven around Australia, and one time we hung out with some swans in Ontario. She holds a Bachelor’s in Philosophy and Psychology, with a Master’s in Religious Studies, and she is working on a Master’s in Library Science. So if you feel the urge to travel, she can find you reference books on where to go, while pondering the larger questions of why you might pursue such a quest and how that relates to your childhood, all with a delightfully understated sense of humor. Obviously, she comes highly recommended. Please enjoy her first post with us here at Stowaway, and be sure to show your affection/ask your questions/request wallaby pictures in the comments.

Running Down a Dream by Ms. Sara OD

The other day I was talking to a coworker about travel and he said something along the following lines: “A lot of people travel to find themselves, but it always seems to me more like running away.” At the time I think I nodded and let this comment slide, intent on going back to making lattes and omelets. But it didn’t sit well with me throughout the day (the comment, not the omelet).

As an avid believer in the transformative power of travel it shook me to think that maybe it was all a sham. It was like being told there was no Santa Claus by Janelle Morris in 1^st grade the week before Christmas (this may or may not have actually happened… and Janelle Morris may or may not be a jerkface). I began to ponder the possibility that all the hype about “expanding one’s horizons” and “absorbing new cultures” and “eating stinky foreign cheeses” was actually a cover-up for our inability to tolerate a humdrum existence. Is travel really just a form of escapism? Are we using geographic variation and cultural discontinuity as an unguent for our overworked, understimulated souls? After looking up the word “unguent” I came to a conclusion: My coworker is an idiot.

Although no one would deny that part of the appeal of travel is “getting away from it all,” it also allows for some serious self-discovery. I’m not saying that every time you visit your cousin in Toledo you’re going to re-envision your place in the universe. Nor am I saying that, ala Julia Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love, we ought to romanticize the unfamiliar to the point of saccharine-induced nausea. What I am saying is that when we open ourselves up to certain experiences, certain fears even, we reveal bits of ourselves that would otherwise remain dormant. For me, fear is essential to travel. When we travel, we intentionally displace ourselves, both spatially and culturally. I imagine the thrill of travel is closely related to the thrill of watching horror movies. How much discomfort can I handle? How far can I push myself? How many more stinky foreign cheeses can I eat?

the stinkiest of cheeses this side of France -- Stilton (photo from http://www.recipetips.com)

The semester I spent in Germany during a study abroad my senior year of college was one of the loneliest and most revealing times of my life. Although my language skills were advanced enough to allow me to competently order a sandwich, this surprisingly did not facilitate an effortless transition into German society. There was always a tangible otherness about me as I fumbled through the different arenas of German life. Everyday tasks became streaked with uncertainty. And to this day I don’t know why it’s necessary that German laundry machines have so many options.

About two weeks into the program there was a day that, like any other day, I was watching dubbed episodes of The Cosby Show. (Until you’ve heard Bill Cosby speak German, you don’t know the meaning of the word “disconnect.”) I decided I’d had enough of Huxtable family values and determined that this particular day was a day of significance. There was an unidentifiable weight to it. Although still not adept at public transportation, I stuffed my German dictionary into my backpack and headed off toward the train station with no idea of where I intended to end up. I don’t distinctly remember that walk to the station, but I do remember the overwhelming buzz of freedom. I remember embracing my solitude. I remember the abandonment of fear. I remember that I should have worn more supportive shoes. Our story ends rather lamely with our heroine going to see a movie in Hamburg (a mere 30-minute train ride away). This is a particularly lame ending given that the movie was The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. But poor adaptations of awesome books aside, the point is not that I wasted twelve perfectly good Euros, but that I reached deep down inside to waste those Euros. Going to see a movie stateside would in no way have tested me in the same way that going to see a movie in Germany did. Eventually I ventured beyond the movie theaters of Hamburg, but that experience will always stick out in my mind as the day I recognized something in myself that, until that point, had been obscured. Only once I experienced that sense of displacement was I able to find the requisite verve to see a truly terrible movie.

Hamburg, Germany -- not a bad place to see a bad movie (photo from http://www.informatik.uni-hamburg.de)

I know our dear Lisa has discussed many of these themes before much more eloquently than I have done here. I know she has talked about the fear, the solitude, and the sense of self that travel instills in the serious traveler. And what it comes down to is not a cliché about “overcoming fear” or “becoming who you were meant to be,” but a real moment of the self confronting the self. So travelers, know that you are not running away — or at least not only running away — you are also running toward. Toward what is up to you.