I want to travel.
Not just for the new places but for the act of it all, because nothing is more exciting than stepping on a plane and knowing in a few hours I’ll be somewhere new. Because watching the sunset from above is probably where I’ll get the best view, and someone far below is looking up and watching it too, looking at the silouhette of a plane fly by.
Because sitting shotgun in the front seat of a car with the windows open blasting my favorite songs and singing along at the top of my lungs will never get old, and I’ll do this until the sky turns hazy and the streetlamps flicker on. And the songs I’m singing? Well, I’ll listen to them in twenty years and think of the wind in my hair and my shirt fluttering in the evening breeze.
I want to travel for the smell of new air because no two places smell exactly the same.
I want to travel to learn a new language and say common words and phrases over and over again until I say it to a local who lives there who smiles and understands and thinks of what a tourist I am.
I want to go to new restaurants and watch people order “the usual, please” but its not the usual for me because it’s my first time there. I’ll order their usual anyway, because it must be good if they’re having it every day.
I want to visit the landmarks and take the same cheesy pictures everyone else is taking. I want to go to museums and look at the art and pretend to read the plaques on the way, just so I seem at least a little educational. I want to get lost and get annoyed with everyone around me, because that’s what I’ll remember when I’m old and someone says “remember when we had no idea where we were going?“
I want to travel for it all, for the road trips and the plane rides and the sights and smells and sounds. For every new experience, and every memory, good or bad, made along the way.