The Suffering of Modern Travelled Youth

I am suffering. Symptoms include boredom, restlessness, and a sense of foreboding concerning the onset, and subsequent traumas of ‘adult’ life. A strong feeling of personal displacement, emotionally and physically. Despite this condition having clear roots, I cannot seem to place its origin, despite all my efforts I cannot find what Paulo Coelho describes in The Zahir, in his usual thought provoking, if facetious, manner, as the ‘acomodador’, an event that dramatically alters one life, usually for the worst. The ‘acomodador’ could be compared to an historical turning point, a rather ridiculous, yet convenient idea that the weight of history can be decided by a single event. Yet despite all my knowledge to the contrary, I cannot be removed from the idea that one single turning point has brought on this current state of melancholy. This seems to make even less sense when it seems that there are thousands of young, university educated, free thinking individuals who suffer from attacks of exactly the same situation as I.

My attacks started in earnest at the touching of aeroplane tyres to runway and Heathrow airport, and were subsequently exacerbated to the point of a chronic illness by a combination of the worlds busiest airport and the London transport system. Aside from the seemingly outrageous expense of it all, (I had recently been enjoying the benefits of the economic desperation brought on by NAFTA in Central America), the very thought of becoming one of the businessmen and women using the Tube that day inspired fear and dejection so pure and immediate that it took some considerable strength, combined with the desire to see my family for the first time in 5 months, for me to resist the overwhelming desire to immediately return to my social playground of the last few months. I could not quite tell whether it was the grim prospect of a career looming close and so symbolically expressed to me by the countless suits and briefcases displayed on the underground carriage I rode in or the loss of my complete freedom that i had revelled in for the last portion of my life. However as the day turned into days and the days became weeks i discovered that it was neither of these things which had brought on my melancholia. Rather, I found out that it was a matter of excitement. Firstly I discovered upon my return to my home town that nothing of significance or interest had occurred, even to the point that I could walk straight back into both of my previous jobs without even having to wait for an opening to occur, it seemed as if time had stood still whilst I had been away, which did delivered a momentary fillip for my ego, but quickly distilled itself into disappointment. This inactivity was not simply resigned to my hometown, a cursory set of phone calls to my erstwhile friends from university confirmed that very little had occurred to my domesticated friends all around the country. Was this simply a matter of an unfair comparison against my travel lifestyle or was it a legitimate, and severe, downside to the ‘real world’ life?

Of course, comparison of home life with that of life on the road is completely unfair. Every day when I travelled I saw or experienced something or met someone which altered my way of thinking and expanded my mind, if only temporarily or minutely. Yet, I could not help but believe that my criticism of the real life that our parents recommend to us is valid and accurate. I am not the only person who feels this way. I met dozens of bright, outgoing individuals who upon their return felt the weight of everyday life lay heavily upon their shoulders, despite their obvious ability to pursue any career or dream they wished to. Most will, of course, eventually adapt and resign themselves to the career ladder and the expected life of living for the weekend. A thought that i cannot abide and fear perhaps more than anything. My social streak has often been the driving force behind my life decisions, whether they are concerning my employment, leisure or education. I am also a realist, and realise that I harbour a desire to socialise and drink that would not be lessened by any graduate scheme or career path, on the contrary, it would probably develop it to a dangerous level. Between these two ideas lies the real reason behind my existential crisis, as it were. A burning idea that almost all people experience to a greater or lesser extent whatever their age. Is there something more worthwhile I could be doing with my life?

This question, in various forms, can plague anyone, of any profession, at any age. Ironically, though it affects most severely those individuals blessed with the triumvirate of education, free time and some disposable income. In the majority of cases a combination of emotional ignorance, alcohol and/or an unnecessary excess such as the purchase of a motorcycle or an affair with a personal trainer suffices to quell the feeling. Alas, for those of us recently out of University, over-read and under-employed, these solutions just wont destroyed the spectre of a wasted life. There is just too much potential, too much idealism, too many examples of a success, however fleeting or embellished. There in lies the problem. The idea of something better being out there is not just an idea, it’s a reality. It can be achieved. It has been achieved. Even if it is just the traveller who makes it 30 years old without having bowed to the social pressures that be, or the graduate that successfully starts his own magazine or record label, there are tangible examples of success that convince me that the desire is not unrealistic and is not misplaced.

With this important information in mind the majority of us restless travellers can, and must, return to normal life in order to generate the income with which they fund their habit. A lucky few can combine the ability to travel with the ability to earn money, but the truth is that these jobs are few and far between and the most are poorly paid, giving only an allowance for ‘pocket money’ and food. Having said this I for one would bite off your hand if you offered me one of the precious few jobs available for I have truly been bitten by the travel bug, perhaps it was this particular voracious insect that caused my malaise……….?

This article was written by a contributing member of the theglobalguru.net community, Oliver Mitchell.   Thanks to Olli for his article and photo contributions!   Please feel free to submit your own content to the knowledge base!

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