As a traveler you've had a great time and, now, you feel guilty in not having yet shared the moments, the cafes, the strange smells absolutely or as freshly as you were able to experience them abroad. You should, anyway. Traveling is always a privilege, and you know that. So, you must write to relief yourself of the guilt in leaving the common rabble back at home and going off to better things. Bring new eyes, or whatever you can back to people who are unfamiliar with the culture or obscure locale. After seeing world renewed soprano, Ana Netrebko, in the role of Mimi from Puccini's La Boheme at the Met or the toothless patriarch of some obscure, isolated, Indonesian jungle tribe wail out a folk song that has been passed down through family generations, spanning hundreds of years, next to a campfire, sit down and recreate the experience as best to your ability.
Perhaps at this moment you don't feel guilty at all in knowing that others have not seen of heard or tasted what you have (If so, what is wrong with you?). Maybe you're still relishing in the sublimity or absurdity of those special moments. Well, then take personal time to write so that you can remember, so that you can relive the expeditions and learn how to bring closure to them. Seems a little self-absorbed, but, hey; you are still emptying your travel from your body in ways that upon revisitation will add nuance and layers of meaning to your memory. It's you time.
But even you will get tired of you time. After landing back in your hometown, the travel experience begins to shake itself up inside your body. If too much time goes before you write, the stories will find a way on their own to seep out of your body. The stories will push up at your head, twist it around, and come out in an outstandingly inarticulate way. These regrettable and completely avoidable moments can be annoying for you and your friends (who are also your fans, naturally). The travel experience is a soda that would lose its fizziness if kept contained, except that because you are, really, so ready to share and revisit and empty yourself, the stories never (rather, they should never) lose too much of that special carbonation before you start talking; however, so as to pound in the point, here is an imaginary portrait of someone I know and perhaps you all know who is now unfortunately an exemplar of the flat soda syndrome (FSS):
Sally McGee is a young woman who recently hosted a fun little gathering at her studio apartment downtown. On that day she had been saving a two liter bottle of Coke she bought earlier for the party, but a few hours before the guests arrived she went ahead and opened the Coke bottle to make herself a small drink. She wanted to live a little, so she had her drink. It was refreshing and delicious. So delicious that she didn't think to immediately recap the bottle, and when reruns of COPS came on the television, she bolted into her living room and cart wheeled into her couch. The act of recapping the soft drink was completely forgotten. Consequentially, the soda sat out for hours. Later that evening, guests sat around in their own frothy conversations, talking about this book and that girl, and the Coke remained shoved back on the kitchen countertop. You can imagine Sally McGee's disappointment when she found the bottle early the next day. The soda was completely flat. Flat and as profoundly useless and absurd as turkey gizzard-genitals. Sally was dramatically forced to throw her bottle away and she never got to taste the sweet, gritty softness that is Coke. She had let her friends down. This is the story of Sally McGee, who did not cartwheel, but crawl, miserably and guiltily, towards her grave. This is the story of Sally McGee.
Yes, of course, in order to retain as much of the experience as possible, go ahead and write it down. Enjoy recapturing the way you beamed when you walked up the Spanish steps or the way you gawked during your first encounter with the Thai transvestites. Write before you forget the names of hotels, villages, and foods and your photographs start to all blend together as mumbling starchiness. Before the moments begin to shed off flakes of memory that will be too difficult to peace together again. Write because people are always searching for new ways to get closer to authenticity outside of their own bubbles of comfort. Just realize that there's an important underlying self-interest in your work and that what you're doing is a good thing, not only for others, but also for you. You don't have to go on in your guilt any longer. You can write and, please, do so! It's for your own wellbeing.
Perhaps at this moment you don't feel guilty at all in knowing that others have not seen of heard or tasted what you have (If so, what is wrong with you?). Maybe you're still relishing in the sublimity or absurdity of those special moments. Well, then take personal time to write so that you can remember, so that you can relive the expeditions and learn how to bring closure to them. Seems a little self-absorbed, but, hey; you are still emptying your travel from your body in ways that upon revisitation will add nuance and layers of meaning to your memory. It's you time.
But even you will get tired of you time. After landing back in your hometown, the travel experience begins to shake itself up inside your body. If too much time goes before you write, the stories will find a way on their own to seep out of your body. The stories will push up at your head, twist it around, and come out in an outstandingly inarticulate way. These regrettable and completely avoidable moments can be annoying for you and your friends (who are also your fans, naturally). The travel experience is a soda that would lose its fizziness if kept contained, except that because you are, really, so ready to share and revisit and empty yourself, the stories never (rather, they should never) lose too much of that special carbonation before you start talking; however, so as to pound in the point, here is an imaginary portrait of someone I know and perhaps you all know who is now unfortunately an exemplar of the flat soda syndrome (FSS):
Sally McGee is a young woman who recently hosted a fun little gathering at her studio apartment downtown. On that day she had been saving a two liter bottle of Coke she bought earlier for the party, but a few hours before the guests arrived she went ahead and opened the Coke bottle to make herself a small drink. She wanted to live a little, so she had her drink. It was refreshing and delicious. So delicious that she didn't think to immediately recap the bottle, and when reruns of COPS came on the television, she bolted into her living room and cart wheeled into her couch. The act of recapping the soft drink was completely forgotten. Consequentially, the soda sat out for hours. Later that evening, guests sat around in their own frothy conversations, talking about this book and that girl, and the Coke remained shoved back on the kitchen countertop. You can imagine Sally McGee's disappointment when she found the bottle early the next day. The soda was completely flat. Flat and as profoundly useless and absurd as turkey gizzard-genitals. Sally was dramatically forced to throw her bottle away and she never got to taste the sweet, gritty softness that is Coke. She had let her friends down. This is the story of Sally McGee, who did not cartwheel, but crawl, miserably and guiltily, towards her grave. This is the story of Sally McGee.
Yes, of course, in order to retain as much of the experience as possible, go ahead and write it down. Enjoy recapturing the way you beamed when you walked up the Spanish steps or the way you gawked during your first encounter with the Thai transvestites. Write before you forget the names of hotels, villages, and foods and your photographs start to all blend together as mumbling starchiness. Before the moments begin to shed off flakes of memory that will be too difficult to peace together again. Write because people are always searching for new ways to get closer to authenticity outside of their own bubbles of comfort. Just realize that there's an important underlying self-interest in your work and that what you're doing is a good thing, not only for others, but also for you. You don't have to go on in your guilt any longer. You can write and, please, do so! It's for your own wellbeing.
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