The Cost of a Ticket to Far Far Away …

I had a conversation the other day, and it’s stuck with me all week. The question at hand was: Can you miss something or someone who’s right in front of you?

Yeah, maybe we’d had a few too many glasses of Cry Juice (which is what my bad ass photographer friend Jenn Farrington likes to call wine) but, nevertheless, I’ve been thinking on this topic all week. This week, I do find myself missing things and people that are right in front of me – simply because I’m about to leave. Each time we fall over laughing about something in a bar, there’s that nagging voice in my brain that says, “Take note. Appreciate. Remember, Jenny. You won’t have this at your disposal in a few days time.”

It’s one side of being an avid traveler that people don’t often discuss. If you are addicted to traveling, then you are always going to be somewhere that the majority of the people you love are not. If you’d asked me last week, I’d have told you that in that fact lies the cost of an adventure. That it was a pretty hefty price tag … a tough payment to hand over. And this week, I’d have told you I was being forced to pay up.

However, since we sat at that table and discussed what it meant to miss something while you were currently surrounded by it, I’ve been considering why I travel and why travel is as much a part of my life as writing. As my family and friends. As the place I live and all the things I love. Normally, I would have told you that I was simply born with a bizarre need to see the whole world before I leave it. Of course, that’s still true. Yet I also think this week that I’ve come to an additional realization (cause I’m all wise and 32 and shit) that forcing yourself to leave your comfort zone and run off into the wilderness not only lets you appreciate that corner of jungle you haven’t yet seen, but it also makes you fully appreciate that moment in a bar before you go. It makes you pause during the point where you and your friend are laughing so hard you are crying, and truly stop to appreciate it. That person, that place, gets momentarily “missed” while you are experiencing it. I’ve realized that the pain of leaving is gift in addition to being a price tag. Like I mentioned, I’m all wise and 32 and shit. And yes, I’m going to miss all of you. A lot.

A moment in downtown Havana, Cuba, taken in 2012