The Complacent Traveler

The definition of complacency is smug satisfaction with the status quo. That’s not me. Or is it? Yes, I have been fortunate enough to travel the world, but should I stop now and sit on the couch, bury in with a good book, and enjoy leisure? I have friends who never want to deal with an airport again and remain content to stay home because they are self-aware enough to know that travel upsets their routines and messes with their physical health … or they have partners who don’t want to travel, and they prefer not to travel alone. That’s never bothered me, the traveling alone part, although it’s nice to be with people you love, whether friends or family, and I’ve been to six continents and learned a lot. But the staying home part seems more alluring the older I get.

I just enjoyed a long, rainy weekend. As the subtropical downpour drenched my lawn and lakes of muddy water washed away all the newly planted grass seeds, I had time to reflect on my upcoming trip to Portugal. Although I am traveling with my sons, and they take care of everything from hoisting my carry-on into the overhead bin to driving our rental car, I still feel a bit anxious. What if I get sick as I did on my last international trip to Israel in late March when I contracted COVID-19? Can I get any sleep on the plane (it’s an overnight flight)? If not, can I handle the next day in Lisbon without sleep until we can check into our hotel rooms after dinner? Maybe a little fado and vino to ease the transition?

What happened to that twenty-one-year-old girl who flew to London and spent the next three weeks traveling alone with her BritRail Pass through England? Right, that was fifty years ago.

The important thing is to stay determined. After all, aging is gold for the writer. It offers the gift of time to travel. When I worked as a reporter and had two sons to raise, I never had the time or the funds to travel.

With freedom comes the responsibility to keep exploring. As a writer, I realize the importance of mixing it up. Since I’m not about to dye my hair purple or paint my nails black, I take risks to escape my complacency. A faithful companion on my travels is a little spiral-bound notebook where I jot down my thoughts.

A couple of day or overnight trips and easy drives also pave the way for adventure. On the last solo trip, I plugged in the GPS, tuned into Sirius XM, and was on my way. The fact that I left my credit card behind in the bar and grille that night and didn’t discover it missing until morning was a minor hiccup. I phoned the restaurant in a bit of a panic, and they had it. On another recent trip, I walked and walked until my right shoulder ached so bad from my sling handbag that even coughing was excruciating. Nothing that an Advil and an IPA couldn’t cure.

Complacency is somewhat overrated. Or as Bob Dylan once said: “My bootheels must be wandering.” It all boils down to one word. Writing. Writing requires and demands, it nurtures and fosters motivation. I’ll keep that in mind when I board that plane tomorrow notebook in my backpack. Those wandering bootheels find fertile and creative paths. Hello, Portugal, here I come.

How about you? How does it feel to travel?