Who I Become When I Travel

Can I take the best of who I become on my travels and bring her home? 

Travel opens up a space for me to become more of who I could be, and less of who I don’t want to be. 

I don’t want to be someone who frantically races between project to project, gym workout to meeting, conversation to social media post. 

I want to tread the earth lightly, taking in hundreds of quiet moments each day. I want to revel in the fine details of my surroundings, the kindness of strangers, the sacredness of each meal I get to eat. 

Lake Atitlan, Guatemala

These years have shown me, I am capable of both the hard and soft way of living.  Living in the modern city, I feel engulfed in the hard, brash, forceful mode of living. I travel out of my first-world existence in an attempt to remember a different way.

I long to feel gratitude for the tree that nurtured my avocado as it enters my mouth. I long to put on my simplest outfit and feel like the luckiest girl on earth. I long to hear birds, leaves and water punctuate my morning, instead of the honk of cars. 

I am well aware that I can do all of these things at home, in Toronto, but I travel that these longings can come habits.  

When I travel, I am recalibrated.

Lake Atitlan, Guatemala

The new location, people, food and senses jar me out of my old routines, even my identity.  I am opened by the choices. I tap into unexpressed elements of myself.  Perhaps I am more brave, or selfish or kind than I think I am. Who do I want to become?

I let go of who I am in the city and I allow myself to grow in any direction, like the branches of a tree reaching in every direction at once, but always up.  

In Guatemala, I woke up with the sunrise and find a spot to watch the sun rise. I thought nothing of spending an hour sitting on the balcony of the treehouse, simply watching the colours in the sky change. I smiled as I gazed at the sun rays first hit the top of the volcano and slide down it’s face to light the whole lake. 

I didn’t need morning meditation there. I sat on the wooden stool, a cup of tea in my hands, wrapped in my green shawl and simply gazed. 

How can I bring the wisdom of those mornings at the treehouse into my life here? 

How can I bring the wisdom of my single carry-on suitcase into my closet at home? 

The merging of who I was and who I became is slow, quiet, invisible. I must pause often. 

The pause becomes space and in the space, I can choose.

*All photos on this site are taken by Anita Wing Lee, unless otherwise stated.