The unfamiliar is enervating; it’s that exhaustion that gives all trips that slick, wicked edge. The unintelligible is exciting, in precisely the way you describe. And travel offers one thing your new year’s resolution does not, and that is escape.

But arguing how the high feels isn’t the point. And this isn’t an intervention, either, bud. I’m not trying to extract you from your opium den or the check-in line at SFO, as the case may be.

What I’m pressing at — and I admit I’m writing to touch a nerve — is to
ask whether all the mobility our modernity offers is an unmitigated good. (How’s that for alliteration?) Love and sex are great things. Addictions to love or sex?

Enervated? Lacking in energy or vitality? Good god, I couldn’t think of a worse description of how I feel l when I travel. Right now, at this moment, I’m more full of energy and vitality than just about any other time in the past five years. New cities don’t enervate – they inspire acute observation, rhapsody, significance, passion. The real question is how to translate all that vitality into the everyday reality of ‘home life.’

The excitement of the unintelligible

And you were a journalist? It’s not what is unintelligible that is exciting, it’s making sense of it. It’s the process. Demystification. Understanding. Empathy. Communication where before none existed.

The artificial promise of another self.

This has very little to do with travel. It’s part of being human. It’s called the new year resolution. “Next year I’m going to be healthier, slimmer, smarter, more organized, learn a new language.” Those desires/delusions (take your pick) are part of being human whether you’re a travel addict or not.

And like all highs, they are temporary. So that’s why you start looking for them again.

Fair enough, so when I travel I experience a heightened sense of consciousness. And, of course, I’d love to maintain that same heightened sense of consciousness while staying in one place. I haven’t found out how to do so yet, but I have a feeling that it has something to do with age. I’m 27, my friend. A young sprite.

You’re now in your (early?mid?late?) 30’s, a corporate lawyer, a father. It was great to meet you in person, you looked good and content.

But are you telling me you regret your travel-addicted 20’s? I doubt it. I’m pretty sure you’re happy about how you lived your 20’s and you’re happy about where you’re at now. I’m also pretty sure that 10 years down the road, so will I.

I recognize the signs very well. Because I, too, was a user. So I know those highs: the enervating unfamiliar city, the excitement of the unintelligible, and the artificial promise of another self. And like all highs, they are temporary. So that’s why you start looking for them again.