the corporate jetsetter.
Sequel to the traveller; a revisit five years in the making.
You fear that you've lost your passion, or what you think it is.
You look dearly in the deepest corners of the closet of your memory. Once you were so free of inhibition. You freely told of tales of a hitchhiking and long overland hauls. You might have had a destination, you might not have had one. You fed freely on what came about, spoke freely to who came about, and rode freely on what drifted about.
You go up in the air, frequently, for that matter. But you do not travel as desired, and are confined to a specific mission and a specific purpose. Encounters may be new; times and locations are fixed. Far from a continuous haul of a relatively linear route, you are airdropped from Point A to Point N, like an airborne sent on a mission. In between the n points, the struggle remains to capture whatever electronic waves available from the nearest cell block, head on routine conversations. Business evolves, but weekly conversations of status updates persist. There has to be something new happening, or something worse, or something worth firefighting for.
For times and roles have changed. Gone were the times of linear travel with a barely identifiable endpoint, at least according to your romanticized thoughts. You have routinized movements, in which a ride on short haul flight routes are no different to a ride on the metro; it is merely point A to point B, a matter of distance, switch from platform turnstiles to passport check-in counters, and perhaps a lot more anger on airport staff, who presume themselves spokesman on behalf of airport immigration authorities of foreign countries.
"Hectic, and lack of choice, for travel is a necessity for continuity of our business," you say when asked. Semantics. Yet you cannot help your heart's sentiments creeping out and embrace full force that peace in the air twice in a fortnight. For those several hours, you are on your own, high up in the air, when anything could happen. It is as if you are alone hidden in a corner of the world, almost unreachable by the common folk on earth; it mirrors the night desert jeep ride past the Darvaza gas crater in Turkmenistan, or drinking beer mixed with cheap whiskey with kids in Kawkareik in Myanmar, be it only for several hours. The only fellow passengers are the ones around you, with whom you share little but temporarily a common destination. Those are the times truly to yourself, when you have the time gap of daily life to catch up with last left pages of your book, which you seem never to find time to finish.
For it is also a lifestyle, pertaining to the wider definition you have had for what you think is your passion. A travel that warps the traditional meaning of a permanent home. At one point you had three bases, among which you shuttled through, chasing after your loved one primarily while trying to be physically present for functional events. Five cities in a week was not an uncommon fixture, and you have over-accomplished your reading targets for those long hours of wait which may seem unnecessary. Chasing, you have, for you always wished to optimize your time, keeping waits at airport minimal, sometimes at others' expense.
It may be time to embark on a journey with a barely identifiable endpoint. It may well mean moving out of places of your functional scope, be good to your passport and decorate it with new colors and designs. A new lifestyle that requires getting used to, where life habits can be rebuilt and rediscovered.
You fear that you've lost your passion, or what you think it is.
You look dearly in the deepest corners of the closet of your memory. Once you were so free of inhibition. You freely told of tales of a hitchhiking and long overland hauls. You might have had a destination, you might not have had one. You fed freely on what came about, spoke freely to who came about, and rode freely on what drifted about.
You go up in the air, frequently, for that matter. But you do not travel as desired, and are confined to a specific mission and a specific purpose. Encounters may be new; times and locations are fixed. Far from a continuous haul of a relatively linear route, you are airdropped from Point A to Point N, like an airborne sent on a mission. In between the n points, the struggle remains to capture whatever electronic waves available from the nearest cell block, head on routine conversations. Business evolves, but weekly conversations of status updates persist. There has to be something new happening, or something worse, or something worth firefighting for.
For times and roles have changed. Gone were the times of linear travel with a barely identifiable endpoint, at least according to your romanticized thoughts. You have routinized movements, in which a ride on short haul flight routes are no different to a ride on the metro; it is merely point A to point B, a matter of distance, switch from platform turnstiles to passport check-in counters, and perhaps a lot more anger on airport staff, who presume themselves spokesman on behalf of airport immigration authorities of foreign countries.
"Hectic, and lack of choice, for travel is a necessity for continuity of our business," you say when asked. Semantics. Yet you cannot help your heart's sentiments creeping out and embrace full force that peace in the air twice in a fortnight. For those several hours, you are on your own, high up in the air, when anything could happen. It is as if you are alone hidden in a corner of the world, almost unreachable by the common folk on earth; it mirrors the night desert jeep ride past the Darvaza gas crater in Turkmenistan, or drinking beer mixed with cheap whiskey with kids in Kawkareik in Myanmar, be it only for several hours. The only fellow passengers are the ones around you, with whom you share little but temporarily a common destination. Those are the times truly to yourself, when you have the time gap of daily life to catch up with last left pages of your book, which you seem never to find time to finish.
For it is also a lifestyle, pertaining to the wider definition you have had for what you think is your passion. A travel that warps the traditional meaning of a permanent home. At one point you had three bases, among which you shuttled through, chasing after your loved one primarily while trying to be physically present for functional events. Five cities in a week was not an uncommon fixture, and you have over-accomplished your reading targets for those long hours of wait which may seem unnecessary. Chasing, you have, for you always wished to optimize your time, keeping waits at airport minimal, sometimes at others' expense.
For you have lost, and you have gained, on the journey.
Lost were the times spent with loved ones, dear moments and big days of close friends. Lost were the ability to plan ahead of time, to spend time on what truly touches your soul - the precise action of writing this piece for instance. Lost were those full head of black hair in exchange for visible strands of white. Lost were the hours of sleep, with errands of professional life creeping into the mind all day long.
Taking a deep breath. Gained were the techniques of ruthless execution, in the pretence of knowing ahead the full consequences; or perhaps at times consequences are best left with a blind eye. Gained were short bouts of instances spent with acquaintances, who may or may not become your friend, but more often than not will become your stakeholder. Gained were the moments of life that you otherwise would not have seen, a brief peek and entry into a certain other lifestyle; moments long enough to get an impression but not enough for full participation. Gained were the ability to say goodbyes with less of a heavy heart, ones that you may not have to cry for, for you are always just one flight away.
It may be time to embark on a journey with a barely identifiable endpoint. It may well mean moving out of places of your functional scope, be good to your passport and decorate it with new colors and designs. A new lifestyle that requires getting used to, where life habits can be rebuilt and rediscovered.
For under that frenzy, the core of what you think is your passion has remained.
Wow deep
ReplyDelete