Even though I spent about two years planning this trip, I haven’t given much thought to why I’m taking it. After a few minutes of contemplation, though, I can make a compelling list:
- Self-discovery
- Cultural exchange
- Escape
None of these actually encapsulate my motivation to travel. Each is simply a post-action justification. Like the excuse a child makes after breaking a rule. Billy didn’t smash the lamp because there was a fly on the bulb. Nor was he expressing his anger or trying to get attention. He simply had a bat in his hand when he walked into a well-lit room. My trip is the result of a similar impulse, which is now a mission statement: Always go. The impetus of such a guiding rule should not be examined while it is still in effect. Scrutiny will only lead to doubt. Alterations will only weaken the structure. No, we’ve already jumped from the plane and redesigning the parachute in midair promises disaster.
And so, Always go must be embraced. The results should be celebrated, or at the very least accepted. To do otherwise leads to regrets, second guesses, and stasis. So it is with great relish that I announce upon my arrival in Sweden, I had spent an average of less than three nights in any bed. My sleeping bag found room on floors, benches, and train seats. The last on that list holding a special place in the Always go pantheon, since it meant sleeping in multiple countries in a single night.
With my aunt Amy waiting for me in Bastad, Sweden, I faced a Huckleberry Finn dilemma. Domesticity, with its family dinners and consistent company sang to me its siren song. Would I button up my overalls and join the table, or run barefoot to the river looking for another raft?
It hasn’t even been a month since that arrival and I have already been to another six countries, so evidence suggests I hopped on that floating stack of wood just as soon as I could.
None of this diminishes what an amazing time I had in Sweden, which I shall now refer to as Land of Memorable Faces.
Bonus Adoreableness
