By Mike Waters   August 20, 2010

Between unwashed hostel bedding, flight cancellations, and the unsettling realization that one has been going in the wrong direction for over an hour, travel sometimes, quite frankly, sucks. Nearing the end of a long trip, how often do we find ourselves counting down the days until we’re back on familiar ground, with a language we can comprehend, food labels we can read (and perhaps even understand), and surroundings that we can navigate without a map? There’s no shame in this – in fact, I’d wager that it’s the point.

One of the essential aspects about traveling is the oft-ignored reality that we usually have no idea where we’re going. It is only back home, then, that we can appreciate exactly how far we have gone, how different things were, or how different we are, afterward. Travel is a great opportunity to learn more about foreign cultures and peoples, yes, but it is also the best opportunity to learn more about oneself and one’s own culture – to appreciate that which we overlook, and to acknowledge what we might not have noticed in the first place.

Travel becomes less about how it is portrayed in magazines – as perfectly planned affairs to far-off locales (somehow inevitably with reliable internet access and a smiling, welcoming public) – and more about blundering about, trying our best, and acknowledging that the most unifying part of our humanity is just that – we are all human. We all make mistakes, which we should remember while reading travel articles – too often escapist fantasies too exotic, expensive, or perfect for us to consider emulating.

In my writing, then, I'd be different. I know I’ll probably make an error (errors?), making my trip more about recovering from that error than about where I thought I was going in the first place. It might be better that way; I’ll probably learn more in that initial moment of panic than if things had continued according to script.

A teacher of mine once said, “A sense of humor, really, is nothing more than a sense of perspective.” So as I’m there, realizing that things are not going as planned – that the wheels are falling off the cart (depending on the location, perhaps literally) – I’ll do what I can: laugh, and then write. Here’s to continuing the opportunity to do both. Thanks.