It is unfortunately hard to recall our quasi-permanent concern with the future, for on our return from a place, perhaps the first thing to disappear from memory is just how much of the past we spent dwelling on what was to come — how much of it, that is, we spent somewhere other than where we were. There is a purity both in the remembered and in the anticipated visions of a place: in each instance it is the place itself that is allowed to stand out.
I’m reading a book lent to me by my friend Jess called The Art of Travel, by Alain de Botton. I’m only a few chapters in, but I’m already impressed by its wisdom (considering it’s a NYT bestseller, maybe?).
De Botton discusses his travel experiences and the experiences of other well-known traveling writers and artists, and ties them in with observations about the expectations we often have when traveling.
And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead – Baudelaire
Anyway, with all that in mind, I’m here: