The Meaning of Travel

Why do you choose to travel? Is it to escape, or to start again? Before we determine to travel, our heart overflows with the desire for the destination, we give so many certain and uncertain ideas to travel through, eager for it to bring us meaning. Proust said: The journey of true exploration is not to see new places but with new eyes. Then we take in the sights we have imagined in our minds countless times, from different angles and in different lights, until the landscape before us pulls us away from our ingrained impressions from the television media. But upon arrival, even if we have more travel plans, even if we give more meaning to the trip, it becomes far-fetched. Like a map, all the street names are marked, but all the roads are like branches stretching out, indistinguishable, or when you see the real thing, no matter how winding and confusing the trip is, it will be clear, simple, straightforward, innocent, and pure. So is the point of travel to see the truth? Because we do not understand, so we have to continue on the road until we understand.

So travel, through large and small cities, wide and narrow streets, tall and short mountains, every inch of the ground has its temperature. We showed a big smile to the camera, we left a visit to many places we visited, we bought back in the travel souvenir store may never commemorate the souvenir. We do not dare to leave, nor dare to stop, so we travel; we are mechanically inertial life, suddenly feel a million tired of willing to temporarily escape, so we travel; we dragged the body tired of life to leave the familiar city, and then dragged a more tired body back to the original life, we left their hometown with a heart full of hope, and then struggle to return home, we to We travel to distant places that we can't reach, we travel to hometowns that we can't return to, we travel to lives that we haven't experienced, and we travel to show off that we've been there. We can't say the meaning of each journey, but each journey to meet the landscape to meet the people, and will smell the fragrance of time, suddenly unfold, so, where to go next? Only then do we start to think about the meaning of travel.re

Where to leave? Where to travel? What kind of meaning to look for? Our addiction to travel is incurably happy, and we bury our bodies and minds in the landscape, all imprinted in the landscape of foreign lands as if directing a movie of ourselves in ordinary life, relaxed, cheerful, and leisurely. Tears do not need to hide, smiles do not need to hide, joy does not need to hide, disgust does not need to hide, because no one knows. The breezy mindset of travel can only be experienced by being in it. Only travel can remind us that our enthusiasm has not faded, our world has not shrunk, and only after the trip, we can rely on scattered memories, patiently accept the day-to-day overlap of life, until again and again feverishly run to the city of inner yearning. In each stopover slowly exhausted departing passion, in each continuous commitment slowly indifferent bored, so began to stop, the love of travel then disappeared. Later we no longer travel, willing to enjoy the loneliness within the ordinary life, because the trip will eventually need to return, because there is always a place inside, no matter where to, in the end, you and I must go back. If you travel because of loneliness, there is no more meaning.

Perhaps the meaning of travel is that we learn to be humble in front of nature, learn to let go of the flow of people, and learn to grow between walks.