Some people get hooked on narcotics. Some have random sex with even more random strangers. Other again drink till they can’t see straight. I, on the other hand, have a completely different addiction, but it too is controlling my life. I can’t get enough of traveling.
I’m not trying to diminish legitimate conditions, comparing them to a frivolous need to constantly have my entire life packed up into a max 20kg suitcase, airport hopping my way through the world. What I’m gaining at is, once you get hooked on something, may it be a pleasure or a pain, you never ever get free from it.
Last year, I managed to squeeze in five trips abroad, totalling up to 26,172km, or 16,263miles (with a huge thanks to the people at Air Miles Calculator for letting me put numbers on one part of my addiction) and getting rid off 9 weeks off work. Which in itself is worrying, as it indicates I work far too much as I am able to tally up enough vacation days and flex time to be away from the office with full pay 9 weeks a year.
True, this year I’ve only managed one trip so far, but 2014 is still young. Besides, that particular trip earned me 17,158km (or 10,661miles), not to mention a raging jetlag that took more than two weeks to rid myself of.
But here I am again, airplane squeeky wheels barely touching ground yet, and I’m at it – checking travel sites, guide books, chatting people up about where to go next. With my finger hovering over the “book now” button, I have to ask myself – when is enough enough?
Simple reply – to someone that has been bitten by the wanderlust bug, it’s never enough. There’s always a huge part of the world we haven’t yet seen, experienced, visited, traveled to. And the good news are – the world is HUGE! There’s always something new to see, experience… the bad news? Basically the same. The world is huge. So it will never be enough traveling.
I blame mom for this (as for so many other things), because she had been bitten early in life and passed it on to me in the DNA. I was two weeks old the first time I was abroad. Two months old when I was on my first long distance trip. Before you get chills, imagining airplane travel with an infant, I can assure you I was the quiet kind. Perfectly content with sleeping or being read to. And I never got damaged by being exposed to various countries and cultures before I could even walk – in fact, going abroad twice a year since I was in diapers (and mom potty-trained me very early, as you can imagine changing diapers in the teeny tiny airplane stall isn’t an experience anybody strives to experience as often as possible) made me resiliant and open to new experiences. It led to my very diversified friend group, my love for foreign languages and… of course… the always insistent on attention wanderlust. My addiction.
I already have booked my April (easter) trip and am currently planning a week in June together with a friend. Shared insanity is always preferred. And I’m completely sure I’ll be off in May as well as September, not to forget the annual running-away-from-my-life Christmas-and-New-Years getaway. I’m thinking I’ll smash my fiver, my 26,000km, in 2014.
You know what? I hope I will!
Wanderlust is pleasurable addiction. May I never be cured!