Blues Run the Game: “No Matter How Far You Travel, You Can Never Get Away From Yourself”

“No matter how far you travel, you can never get away from yourself” -Haruki Murakami.

Through literature, art, culture, and media, I have forever been inclined to travel; to see the world for what it is, in all of its glory and freedom. So far, I have seen a fair lot: gazed out of a Parisian balcony, gawked upwards at the sheer verticality of New York, strolled through Verona, cycled through German and Dutch streets, and walked through countless other towns and cities abroad. Here’s the truth: travel won’t fix me, or anyone like me who thinks floating around the world will heal them absolutely. Don’t get me wrong - I could be mistaken, and maybe I’ll travel the world and come back calmer, steadier, genuinely changed. But then I think about Venice, a month before my exams, when even the gilded churches and crooked little streets couldn’t pull me out of my own head. No matter what I looked at, all I could think about was Descartes or Auteur theory. I know it's silly, dwelling on something temporary like exam stress when I was in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, but that’s the point: you’ll always find something to stress about. Your ape brain is affected more by cortisol than the beauty of the Sistine Chapel.

I’ll use the example of my mum, a woman who, from the age of 23, travelled the world alone for three years. Like many of us, she didn’t have the financial cushion of her parents' money or some bountiful trust fund given to her by wealthy grandparents. She worked constantly, her travel experience tainted by thoughts of financing food, transport, and a place to stay. I have always questioned her with awe about her many travels, and she always responds to me indifferently. Though humility may explain some of it, I honestly think she doesn’t view what she’s done as anything out of the ordinary. Like everything in life, we become bored. Travel is exciting, of course, but after months to years of seeing everything, meeting everyone and exploring everywhere, you’re bound to feel at a loss again. She told me that her favourite time in her life was when she was pregnant with me, as after years of non-stop travelling, she finally had her own place, and stagnation did not seem like such a burden anymore.

What is happiness? Don’t worry, I don’t mean to scare you. Many think they have the answer: through faith, acceptance, ignorance, or exercise (of the body or mind). It’s safe to say we don’t know. Over the winter break, I fell in love with Anthony Bourdain, his shows, and his overall philosophy in life. He insisted on his philosophy of travel, stating, "I urge you to travel – as far and as widely as possible. Sleep on floors if you have to. Find out

how other people live and eat. Learn from them – wherever you go." I must admit, I agree with him. Yet I suppose I mistook that as wholly true. If you are a traveller like Bourdain, who was starkly aware of the dichotomy between rich and poor, having an increased sense of empathy is bound to bring you down, especially if you may already have your own mental health struggles.

Of course, I think travel is so incredibly important, and I am forever grateful for the opportunities I’ve had and will have to see so many different places. It is beneficial to mental health sometimes, as it can bring you out of your bubble. To me, it reminds me of how the world is so big yet so small at the same time. One can go nearly anywhere these days, on planes which take no more than a number of hours to get you where you want to be. Yet, as you indulge yourself in the world's rich and diverse cultures, and walk past the locals, imagining how different their lives are to yours, you

notice how insignificant you are, but in the most freeing way possible.

It’s funny, because I am not sure if I entirely agree with myself, but through hearing the voices of those who have done what I haven’t, I must take it upon myself to be a realist. I could leave tomorrow, travel the entire world, sleep on floors and walk across landscapes of unknown treasures. I could stay in a shack on a Taiwanese mountain, or a crummy New York apartment, then back to the sunset on a distant beach. But what good is that to me if something inside me is restless and gnawing? If I go with myself now, as I am, I’m sure I’ll find something to fret or cry about. We are greedy, always needing more, searching for the next great fix. I am not spiritually inclined, and so I doubt I would personally find the way of faith through visits to grand churches or Buddhist monasteries. We think we can escape from ourselves through running away, yet the problem is rooted within us. It's harsh, I know, but before you spontaneously book a one-way ticket into the depths of the world, maybe go and see a therapist first.

Words by Libby Stern, she/her