Sunlight glittered on the softly undulating surface of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. Families floated inside whimsical paddleboats shaped like dragons, as the regal ships moored to the dock shaded the waters beneath a murky green. Shakespeare actors clanged their swords together in a mock fight; a stray guitarist strummed a folk tune; children all around squealed in delight.
I breathed in these sights and sounds greedily. This trip to the Baltimore Book Festival was a much-needed change of pace from mundane day-to-day college life, especially in cloudy Carlisle, PA (just south of Middle-of-Nowhere and west of Never-Heard-of-It.) After spending a semester abroad in England where I could hop on a train to London for the weekend, living in a small-town campus in rural Pennsylvania was starting to feel claustrophobic. So, naturally, I rejoiced in this refreshing vista as my inner bookworm browsed antique novels and inhaled the sweet scent of expensive handmade leather journals that lil’ broke me could never afford.
That afternoon, I sat on one of those uncomfortable metal folding chairs in a big outdoor tent as I listened to a panel of writers on How to Make to the Ordinary Extraordinary. For an aspiring writer like myself, the topic sounded mildly interesting, but I never expected that one of the panelists would say something that resonated so deeply with me; she exhorted us to live life with the mindset of a traveler or a tourist, even in one’s own neighborhood.
A tourist? I thought. I immediately spurned the word, imagining fanny packs, socks with sandals, and obnoxiously large cameras. But tourists, the panelist explained, ask questions. They notice details. They open up their senses and view the world around them with an indefatigable sense of wonder.
She was right. Perhaps everything seemed brighter, more colorful, and more charming in Canterbury or Aux-en-Provence because I was looking for beauty there. That wrought-iron gate or quaint flower box, which is just another fixture that the local inhabitant doesn’t even notice, is a remarkable work of art to the foreign traveler.
Had I been missing out on the wondrous details of Carlisle, or even my hometown of Philadelphia? The skyscrapers and sculptures I take for granted in that city are the same ones that tourists travel miles and miles to see. What would happen if I looked at the world around me as if I were seeing it for the first time? I left Baltimore with a new frame of mind.
This blog is my experiment—a space for me to explore my wandering thoughts as I try to live each day as a “traveler.” I hope to discover opportunities near and far to invigorate my daily life with art, culture, and travel. If you’re interested in taking the journey with me, grab your passport, strap on your fanny pack, and join me in studying the art of wandering through life.
