Self-identifying as a backpacker has a certain nostalgia associated with it. There’s an aura of freedom, maybe even a little adventure. Some may think you’re brave, or exciting, or just plain lucky. Driving the New Zealand countryside over the last week, as my rear-view mirror was, most likely illegally, obstructed with bags, clothes, and sleeping pads strewn about in the back of the car, I had to chuckle a bit. Three days removed from my last shower, having just contorted my way from my sleeping bag in the not-quite-long-enough backseat of my hatchback Corolla into the driver’s side, I had a bit of an inner dialogue trying to make the determination whether I was simply a typical backpacker to be slightly envious of, or if I was actually just a glorified homeless person. The jury is still out, but as it stands now, I have no job and no home address of my own. The time and location of my next shower is a mystery. I would imagine in some states, depending on how you look at it, this might qualify me as being legally homeless.
Speaking of which, perspective can be a funny thing. Before I crawled into my bed/backseat one evening, I looked around the campsite and, as I’d done each night before, looked up. As it had the previous night, and the night before that, and the night before that, the Milky Way dominated the night sky. I’d be hard-pressed to remember the last time I’d seen the Milky Way for a week straight. As I gazed, I had a bit of a realization that, while I am not always present to see it, this spectacular light show happens every single night. The stars are always there. The beauty is always there. Wonder and awe is waiting to be experienced by someone, somewhere, with every passing night. More often than not, though, they’re hidden. City lights. Cloudy skies. Bitter cold. The comfort of the roof over our head. These obstructions, both real and notional, keep us from experiencing what is ever-presently waiting to be enjoyed.
Coming back down to Earth, I’d like to think the same goes for the experiences of travel. Or really, whatever you may find beauty in, but never seem to grasp. It’s there, waiting. Every day and every night. Perhaps you have an obstacle in the way, like the clouds so often block the Milky Way, but I believe it imperative to realize that your adventure, your experience, your treasure, is there for the taking. It just might take a little change in scenery. And maybe some stinky shirts.
If a few missed showers and a backseat that doubles as both a bed and a closet is all it takes to grab hold of my own adventure, then a transient I shall be…