It pains me to say it but my mother was right. The older you get, the faster time goes by. Life is a snowball on a mountainside, starting as a few delicate flakes but picking up mass and speed as it lumbers downward.
Christmas becomes Easter, Easter becomes Memorial Day becomes Labor Day becomes Thanksgiving. All in a flash. And then ten and fifty times more. Mama was right, dammit.
I’ve read that time stops when you travel – it slows down, at least – and that makes sense to me. It’s also one of the reasons I love to travel. When we’re removed from our real worlds, with jobs, bills, schedules and litter boxes, it’s easier to focus our attention in new directions, and that seems to throw the system out of whack.
In Fresh Air Fiend Paul Theroux writes, “Travel is a state of mind. It has nothing to do with existence or the exotic. It is alamost entirely an inner experience.”
I like that. Travel as a word can mean as many things to us as pleasure, happiness or fulfillment.
Travel as an inner experience puts it in the realm of dreams. Dreams can serve as therapy for the psyche, helping it sort out its disarray. Dreams let our minds wander without the bridles of routine. Dreams educate and enlighten.