For the past year I have traveled a lot for work. There have been weeks where I have stayed in 3 different hotels in three different cities. Those of you who read my status updates on Facebook, know that sometimes I wake up and can't recall where I am. It's a chilling feeling to arise in the dark in some hotel room and, for a full minute, not know where you are. If you've never experienced that, you're gonna have to trust me that it's really creepy.
When all this traveling began, I thought I wouldn't like it. And at first, I didn't. It was a schlep to pack all my stuff, lug it to the car, trek up to wherever I was going, find the hotel, lug my crap to the room, immediately make the bedspread disappear (do you know how many germs and gross things live on those bedspreads????) and settle in. After all, I was a homebody for almost my entire life. Never traveled abroad, rarely crossed the 5/405 split unless someone needed the hospital (thank god they opened a Scripps in Encinitas), and the thought of driving past Camp Pendleton was my definition of a serious road trip.
And then something changed...... I remember the night it happened. I was staying at the Fairmont Hotel in Newport Beach (one of the swankier hotels I have stayed in....not the norm), after having presented an informational meeting for parents and professionals. I was tired, but restless and amped after presenting, and so I decided to hit up the lobby bar for a nightcap before retiring for the night. I pulled out the chair, sat down, ordered my drink and just watched.
Around me were mostly men, traveling for work probably, like me, all in their 40s and 50s, like me, some sitting together, some sitting alone, like me, and I began to be an anonymous observer. I watched them and I would make up stories about them, I even gave them all names. There was The Senator, The CEO, The Vacuum Cleaner Salesman, The Cheater, Mr. Slick, and Mr. Lost and Lonely. I sat by myself, watching these men (by the way, in all my travels, I rarely see traveling women in the bars... don't know why that is.... it just is) and making up little stories in my head about what they do for a living, what their home lives must be like, and what their inner issues were. You could tell things about them by what they wore, how they talked and moved, and how their eyes looked. Or at least I thought I could. Mr. Lost and Lonely had tassels on his shoes and had to be from the Midwest, he was missing his family terribly, hated his job, and didn't have enough money to make any changes in his life. He drank 3 beers, probably would have preferred 3 double Dewers, and he left the bar with his eyes to the floor, shuffling his tasseled feet. Stuff like that. Poor Mr. Lost and Lonely.
These guys were anonymous to me. And then it occurred to me that I was also anonymous. I could be anyone when I traveled. Maybe they were making up stories about ME! I started thinking about anonymity and the ramifications of being a stranger in a strange, new place. Depending on how you looked at it, being anonymous could be kinda cool. There, at that bar, in a new town, I wasn't a mother, a daughter, a girlfriend, a boss, a friend, a partner, a business owner... nothing! I had no identity. I was a blank canvas. At THAT moment there wasn't a single thing that was expected of me except to continue sitting there sipping my drink and amusing myself with stories of weird men. It was a freeing feeling in a sense... to be anonymous...to be no one, to be blank. I was a stranger. I was a traveler. I was alone in a new city, in a random hotel at a bar, and I felt free. It was a feeling of youth in a sense. Remember that free feeling?
I finally understood why someone would want to put a backpack on and travel the world (that has never been on my "to-do" list), but now I think I get it. People who travel are strangers and anonymous. They are free or at least searching for that freedom. They are blank, ready for anything, without any preconceived ideas or agendas. Don't get me wrong, I'm not comparing a world backpacker to a traveling business person, they are two completely different breeds, but I am saying that, on a relative level, there is something to be said for being anonymous and being a stranger. It's a tad exhilarating, a little risky, and somewhat freeing to be in a new place, without knowing anyone and being ok with that.
I won't be putting on a backpack anytime soon, trust me, but I now travel with a new sense of freedom and autonomy. I currently travel with a teeny bag that I toss effortlessly into my back seat. I never unpack my bathroom bag when I am home, I just grab it and go. I make special playlists for my trips up the coast, and I look forward to reaching my new hotel, wherever it may be (oh, and it must have a bar). I've now found a little freedom, joy and youthfulness on the road. It's all how you look at things. Kinda cool.
