Deep inside, there has always been an urge to go. It never really mattered where – simply go. There were times of pondering what the urge meant, how to realize it, or where it would lead. But hardly ever was there any question as to why it was around. The thought of going was ever so natural: a predestined path inherently attached to the core, it infiltrated the molecules of oxygen and filled the lungs with life. Yet, the anticipation of an abrupt change makes even the tallest tree shake. The concept of going bears an array of meanings that dare, intrigue, and overwhelm altogether. Even so, it is by acknowledging and embracing all shades of gray that the path becomes colorful. Sooner or later, the fact that everything happens in its own time is revealed, if only we are willing to observe. And we remain with our eyes fixed on the target until suddenly, without notice, we go.
The smell of self-reliance soothes the nostrils. Its bittersweet taste waters the mouth; its quietude unclogs the ears; its immensity lubricates the eyes. Since the moment of relinquishing, the heart is free from the anxiety of going – it perceives the vastness of the road ahead and it is eager to beat faster. The feet are reckless over what they are stepping into: an endless roller-coaster with loops and right-angled drops, without breaks nor seat belts, stamped by panoramic views, enlivened by a never-ending breeze. Almost instantly, the mind elucidates some of the many reasons for being alive, in the hope to catch up with at least a share of thoughts, emotions, and sensations filtered along the beginning of the ride. What was once an urge – an inconceivable idea – sprouts branches of possibilities. The passing of time shifts priorities into place and the act of drifting slowly develops a modus operandi. The options are endless; there are a whole lot of doors to open.
Roads, streets, alleys and pathways become the veins and arteries that pump blood across our bodies. Away from what was once known, we undress our familiar skin and gear up to discover the unimaginable. Nights spent awake in far away bus stations, solid floors turned into beds, the rash of backpack straps, currency exchange rates, exhaustive decision making – these are well known turfs for those who dared to go. It is through like-minded circumstances that we are presented to the virtue of adaptability, where needs are examined and accepted for what they are. Likewise, we begin to grasp the value of following our curiosities; we chase the stories that inspire, using mundane narratives as both the drive and motivation for the carrying on our wayward.
Answers turn into questions, which in turn replace the interrogation mark for suspension points when realizing that some inquiries haven’t got or don’t need a response. Amid quiet nights and busy days, in the freezing cold and under a scorching sun, alone or united, we begin to create our own concept of going. There is novelty, plenitude, and nostalgia in the process – a dance that links who we once were to who we will one day be. Seemingly trivial events stop feeling like accidents and start to bear responsibility for what they truly are: a clash of decisions. And as this ensemble of moments pile up to become experiences, we find places to store them as memories.
Finally, the company of “me” overburdens. It is something to get used to until the weight of this two-lettered word is confronted by the lightness of another – we. We begin to understand that we are nothing compared to everything. When we go, our hearts touch and are touched; our souls are tested and filtered and cleansed and set free. Time loses its linearity; everything happens in cycles. Virtues are put into perspective, pushed to the point of bettering, or even better, changing. Senses and feelings accept the reality of movement; they learn to live with the inconsistency that comes from chasing something new around every corner. The idea of what is going to be is at the mercy of the uncontrollable – and our spirit smiles at that. The human being comes across humanity; the humanity teaches him or her to be human.
Oftentimes, it may look like we are running away from something. But the more we go, the more we realize that, in fact, the only things we are indeed escaping from are our own limits and comforts – our phobia of being conformed. When the compass doesn’t show the direction anymore, when our choices lead us to start from scratch, again and again, we try to recall the urge to go. We trust the winds and let our senses guide us, until the heart’s thirst is quenched, or until the only satisfaction is to finally, stay.