Why Am I Always On Move: Secrets Of A Fulltime Traveller

Man is an insatiable being. And I am just one of a kind.

Counting the last few hours of my stay with a beautiful family in Rome (that was my home for almost 2 weeks) as I sat down to ponder upon a question I was asked, at the dinner table half an hour ago, I wondered, once again, what they asked me “why I travel so much? What’s the fascination behind it?”

I mean why is it that when other people around me are busy sorting out their lives and raising families, I act like a clueless nomad — a person who hasn’t experienced the comfort of a permanent dwelling as he grew up and became a man?

Why am I so restless, so unsatisfied, and bitten by the idea of ceaseless traveling?

The Joy In What’s Fleeting

When I ponder upon the reasons for my unquenchable travel thirst, I realize that I am always on the move because I am looking for a world with no flaws, where harmony only reigns, a Shangri-la (if you’d like to put it that way) that perhaps does not exist at all. Yet I’m seeking it, and in the process, I am enjoying every day and getting hooked on the moments and the people I meet. And those people and moments are the sources of my constant movement.

I like the idea of waking up for a better morning, leaving places I’ve been to and people I’ve met, behind, and moving to An Unknown Next: a dream world where the people are the kindest, the weather is perfect, and every breath is as aromatic as the first rain.

And until I don’t find that (I am not sure if I ever will!) I will stay footloose because if nothing else, I find the joy in what’s fleeting as the best of all joys. Though some may find it as a symptom of irresponsibility, or of running away from the bigger picture in life, I see it as a moment of possibilities.

If I don’t like a place, or even if I do, I like the idea of leaving it behind and finding a more perfect, or an equally beautiful version of it, somewhere else!

Home Is Where You Put Your Hat

And then again, as the saying goes ‘Home Is Where You Put Your Hat’, a home is after all not a place you were born. Home is, for me, where the heart is.

Two weeks ago, my home was the beautiful neighborhood of Zurich, and it felt more familiar, at least for the moment than the confusing suburbs in Delhi that I’ve grown up watching, or the far-out corners of the Himalayas — where I often find myself while escaping the world.

I don’t believe in losing things behind, and I don’t believe in the loss. Because I think that loss is as much in the eye of the beholder, as is beauty. And as the story of what Miraculous Tooth Brings Home goes, truth sometimes exists less in what’s outside of us than what we make of it. So I count every place as my home. As long as I feel the ground under my feet, and find a few happy faces, at the dinner table, to speak with, I am happy. I go whichever way the wind takes me.

New Friends Are The Biggest Of All Assets

Alright, before I say something, I would like to confess that I am really bad at making new friends. As an introvert, of a different kind, I find it tougher than you can imagine to continue a conversation for a long time or even go beyond the usual banalities of a conversation.

But that doesn’t mean I do not admire the importance of making new friends or that I cannot make friends. Making friends and building relationships have always been my biggest source of inspiration. I meet someone new and I try to adapt the goodness in them, into me.

And no, don’t get me wrong as a humble, inspiring person. Not yet at least. I am just another selfish soul out there seeking a bond out there and spreading the light of companionship only to seek personal gains in the end. Because no matter what I say, in the end, the man is an insatiable selfish animal, and I am just one of a kind.

Further Reading: Why I Travel Solo | The Joy Of Slow Travel