Motivation

Eighteen months ago, I decided to commit to something I had always wanted to do but always had reasons not to do. A lot of people hear about it and they speak of envy, saying they wish they could go and do the same. I can't say I've heard any of them put up a good argument for why they can't, or any argument for that matter. Simply that it seems out of reach. Even for the ones whose eyes light up with admiration, they usually think it's beyond them despite their visible passion. I think that's a mistake.

There's another side to it: Where I meet people who've gone and done the same thing or something similar. When it comes up and is mentioned in passing, it usually warrants a bit of a grunt. Both of us are no doubt very passionate about the topic at hand, and value what we've gained from it, but it's just life. It's not such a big deal.

Growing up outside of a small hamlet in the countryside, I never ventured very far. A twenty minute drive to a nearby town was the most exciting thing I could think of doing as a kid. They had Legos, after all, and there was a small chance that I might my hands on a pack of them. Anything beyond that was beyond thought for the longest time. Never mind that I lived within a two or three hour drive of three major cities. Less than six hours from New York City, Boston, Washington DC, and more; all a daytrip away.

I hadn't ever been to Montreal, two hours away from where I grew up and a straight shot down the highway I lived beside.

And so it may have come as a shock to a number of people when I casually mentioned that I was going to drop everything and travel the world. I'm sure there were some — probably those who thought they knew me the most — who believed I was full of shit. Those who thought my haphazard plan to just "Uhh get a backpack and then start going... somewhere." was ridiculous. But I don't bullshit. Well, that is unless I'm clearly bullshitting. There is that.

But I'd been wanting to do something along those lines for a very long time. I'd wanted to go out into the world, I'd wanted to see everything with my own eyes if only to verify that "Yup — yup that place really does exist.", and having now done that, it's fucking surreal sometimes. Places that you'd grown up seeing in movies, in pictures. To have something that has been completely abstract for your entire life, and then suddenly it becomes a reality. It's a totally awesome mindfuck along the same line of euphoria that nostalgia can give.

And there's bewilderment. I knew that I didn't really know anything about anything. I could watch documentaries and read articles until the day I died and never truly know the world. Having the opportunity in Canada to get to speak to and make friends with people from around the world who have come here seeking a different life is an extreme privilege to have, but I'd still die in ignorance if that's all I ever knew. There's no substitute for experience, and I was a smart enough kid to grow up understanding that.

The rest of it; I can't say. Can't really put to words what I felt, what I wanted, what I was seeking, what I expected, or what I hoped for. The rest was a mystery to be discovered. A mystery that will have different answers for different people.

Now what actually spurred all of this into action was a trifecta (Not really; I just want an excuse to use that word. But I'm sure I'll be able to pull exactly three things out of my ass if I try. Here goes...):

First, there had been an overwhelming discontent with my life for... most of my life. At the time, I was doing fairly well but was able to see a turning point a few months down the road where it would likely spiral back downward. I didn't want that to happen and so I turned to traveling as an excuse to keep things going well. In hindsight, that one worked.

Second, my career and financial responsibilities were in good order. I had gone through school, worked a few years in my field afterwards so that my resume was reasonable, and had a positive balance of wealth. That kind of stuff.

Third, any commitments I had made were fulfilled. I had made a point throughout my life not to make any commitments that I wasn't sure I wanted. I suppose that I valued my freedom even if I seldom ever exercised it. Now as much as this means commitments to people, it also means commitments to things. Any concept that your financial investments are purely financial isn't wholly honest. Not in our society, not in our culture, perhaps not even in our species as a whole. It feels a little cliche, but the line "The things you own end up owning you." is completely true.

I didn't own anything of value that I couldn't carry or quickly liquify and thankfully I didn't have any children. That may have been the only thing that could have truly held me back. I started mentioning to my friends that I'd be going. Then I told my boss. Then my landlord. I slowly started getting rid of everything I owned.

I had both the long and short term motivation to disappear. I had everything in line.

A few months later, my job was actually over. My apartment was actually gone. My things were all gone. I found myself with a backpack and no home. It wasn't all a wash, though. I had my bank account.

If putting yourself in that situation doesn't motivate you to get your ass moving, I'm not sure what would. Fugitive status? Thankfully I didn't have to commit any crimes to motivate myself further. I spent my first homeless night on a friend's couch. The next morning, I found my way to the western edge of the city. Part of me wanted to do it, part of me knew I had to. The other part of me, the really big part really didn't want to do it. But that's what you've gotta do, right? Put yourself in those uncomfortable positions? They're the only way to grow.

Oct. 25, 2014
This journey had a few purposes before I started. First, I was very unhappy where I was. Living in the same spot in the same place for a year. I also wanted to learn more about other people and experience other cultures and so on. As I put it, just 'learn'.