Why do we travel?

What is it about travel? It's so darn exciting. At least the anticipation is and it directs us to a romantic place in our minds. Why? Is it that travel is associated with youth? With being carefree? I didn't travel afar when I was young and carefree. But I might have. Or maybe I'm thinking I should have? At the time I didn't miss going to foreign lands. I was setting roots in New England, which was like a foreign country compared to growing up a stone's throw from the George Washington Bridge. In our '64 VW, I traveled from one end of Connecticut to the other at my new job. I explored without fear. Some days I'd visit a gritty section of Waterbury, sure to park on a hill so I could jump start the car. Other days it would be lunch at an old Polish club in New Britain. But just as often I'd be on the back roads and I marveled at the distinctive town greens, the population thinning to few on the patchwork of family farms still around then. Every day was an adventure.

Travel brings adventure like few things can with years gone by. It is exciting because it offers the "new." It bumps us out of the routine and rejuvenates curiosity. The adventure is in the unfamiliar person, the idea presented, the word overheard, or one's own reaction so unexpected, jarring. It begs comparisons. It offers contrasts. Yes, I think I'm ready to go.