“W. Somerset Maugham called books ‘a refuge from almost all the miseries of life’ -- and as fun as travel can be, being far from home can also be exhausting, hectic and fraught with flashes of sweet misery. For literate travelers, a good bookstore is a sanctuary.” (Trazzler)
I’ll let my mind wander and dive in, for now. I’ll put on my thinking shoes and buckle down to ponder the pages.
And if I get stumped wrestling with my Id, Ego and God knows whatever unnamed monsters there are under the iceberg, let me rest. Maybe I’ll break bread with them. Then we can plan our next expedition over adobo pao and xiao long bao.
Next time when the toe itches, we will be prepared. We will travel again.
Oh, and we’ll make sure bossy Superego will be in the minority.
|I remember this Trinity from Psy 100. FREUD'S.|
“We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again—to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more. The beauty of this whole process was best described, perhaps, before people even took to frequent flying, by George Santayana in his lapidary essay, “The Philosophy of Travel.” We “need sometimes,” the Harvard philosopher wrote, “to escape into open solitudes, into aimlessness, into the moral holiday of running some pure hazard, in order to sharpen the edge of life, to taste hardship, and to be compelled to work desperately for a moment at no matter what.”
----from Pico Iyer’s “Why We Travel”
PS: Thanks to RR, a facebook friend, for posting the Trazzler article.