In his song “The Inner Light,” George Harrison wrote, “Without going out of your door, you can know all things on Earth.” I realize he adapted the idea from the Taoist Tao Te Ching and that he is actually speaking about enlightenment, but it sure does make me feel better when I see my empty suitcase shoved in the back of my closet.
The thing is sometimes I feel like everyone I know has been somewhere worth going to, and I can’t help feeling left out. Sure, I’ve been to some cool places:
But the truth is I can’t help feeling like I’m missing out on something, like there’s this big wide world out there that I haven’t seen and everybody else has (maybe a little bit of an over exaggeration, but just go with me on this).
Typically, when I start feeling a bit bored and blue, I turn to my books. What better way to forget your own petty annoyances than to get involved in someone else’s fictional ones, right?
Therein lies the Ah-ha! Moment when I realize I couldn’t be more mistaken about my lack of expedition experience.
I am a firm believer that reading is the only way to get anywhere without going anywhere. Except maybe to the local library or bookstore. This one is my favorite.
Anyway, when I start getting travel envy, I think of all the places my books have taken me and feel an immediate sense of relief, not because I’m proving that I’ve been somewhere, but because my vision of what these worldly places should be is untainted by the experience of reality.
Take The Shadow of the Wind.
It’s one of my favorites, a book I’ve returned to multiple times. In its pages I’ve wandered the streets of Barcelona with Daniel. I’ve seen its best parts. I’ve seen its dark parts, too, at least the way Zafon paints them. And I have to say that the Barcelona I see in my mind is one I have fallen in love with, especially the parts that may or may not really be there (like the cemetery of forgotten books—if you don’t know what it is, you should definitely find out).
I’m sure the real Barcelona is lovely. I even wanted to go there for awhile (I still haven’t ruled it out.). Then I realized that going there would force me to sacrifice the city I’ve constructed for myself because you know what they say: once you’ve seen something, you can’t unsee it. And I’m just not sure I’m ready to relinquish the fictional city I love for a real city I honestly don’t know much about. Call it fear. Call it rationalizing. Whatever.
There are a lot of reasons for a lot of people to disagree with me about this. They’ll say it’s a cop-out, that I’m just trying to find a way, any way, to make myself feel better for being state-bound. I suppose there’s probably some truth to that. If someone handed me a plane ticket and said, “Go,” I don’t think I’d say no. But that’s not really the point, is it?
The point, my friends, is this: we are unbelievably lucky, those of us who know what it is to see so clearly in our minds something we’ve never actually seen in real life, because when resources or circumstances prevent it, we are still able to whisk ourselves away to stories, lives, and places infinitely more interesting than our own. So I’m not suggesting a forfeiture of travel in favor of the couch in the living room (although that couch is pretty darn comfy and doesn’t require a passport or a suitcase). What I’m saying is that the stories we read are both a consolation and a prize, but not a consolation prize. They allow us the pleasure of experience AND the beauty of imagination. And who knows? Sometimes what we imagine can feel as good as the real thing.