Why am I the reluctant traveler?

So why am I the reluctant traveler? Looking at the number of FB pics I put up, most of my friends tell me that the name is such a misnomer. The more honest ones also tell me that it’s quite annoying to have daily updates on what I ate in which country, and where I went swimming, and which guy I had a crush on. I agree. But then you still have to put up with it 🙂

So yes, why the reluctant traveler?

I am not sure when the travelling bug bit me. I come from a middle class family where money was only for a solid education, a long awaited home, a second hand Premier Padmini, and a rainy day. Travel never figured – not as a hobby, not as an interest, and certainly not as a passion.

It’s easy to blame the lack of a travel gene to a normal if slightly bland Indian middle class childhood. But the truth is that I never had thought – never even wondered – on how it would be to see the world, how it would be have friends across the world, how it would be to venture into the unknown. As a voracious reader, I read about places and people and lives, but I never thought that existence could be ever mine.

But things changed.

Over the last 13 years, I have done a fair amount of traveling. 28 countries, 10 states, myriad experiences, and a few soul-stirring emotions later, I still feel I have a long way to go. Probably one reason for that is that I started traveling for the wrong reasons. Well, scratch that – that’s not true. When I first started going on trips, it was a holiday – a holiday to spend time with friends who wanted to travel the world. Am not sure when that changed, but soon it came something more.

Some journeys start on placid waters...gentle and  calm and comforting...but it's only the beginning.  As the sun hovers over the horizon, we venture out..to adventures..and love... and fun..

Some journeys start on placid waters…gentle and calm and comforting…but it’s only the beginning. As the sun hovers over the horizon, we venture out..to adventures..and love… and fun.

I had always talked about travel a lot, but it was always with a kind of reluctant acceptance, as if my interest was never my own; it was as if I had borrowed the interest from people around me, and so I could never really claim it to be part of my identity. So the name of this blog stemmed from this deep rooted resistance to attribute my essence to something ..something I had discovered so late in my life. The question remained – if it had lay dormant for so long, was it part of me? Would I ever know?

Truly love is supposed to be passionate right? Intense, emotional, and gut-wrenching. So what about the love that creeps into your heart when you are least aware of it – one that is subtle, but joyful; one that’s quiet, but not desperate; one that’s thrilling, but not demanding?

Is love any less, if it came without the fireworks, but arrived with a slow joyful warmth that embraced your soul?

It’s not, and I had to learn that. And accept that. Today, I know that my journey, and my love, both are unique – as am I. As I discover different parts of the world, I discover both the forgotten and the unknown parts of my self. I discover the best of the world, and the worst that could go wrong. I discover that heights I can reach, and the depths I could plummet to.

More importantly, I discover that I could be a better person today than I was yesterday.

This blog is part of my travel journey – not just through places and countries, but also through the experiences and moments that I discover and cherish in every single trip.  It a journey through my questions, my searches, and my illusive quest of a love .. whom I am yet to truly acknowledge.



Another post written long back on almost the same subject: On why I love traveling


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