On Traveling Alone
No one can experience a sight, a sound, a touch, a taste exactly as you. Whereas one person may be blown away by the wind, only a brain shower of thunder claps and lightning strikes may properly bowl you over. You may need an anchor, another the whole ship, another an armada arranged in Crystal Palace formation, the eyes of gods surrounding, protecting your most private visions from being destroyed. Even our impressions of impressionism are impressionable to the company we keep; a museum tour guide can’t ever tell you what you see; following a map to a T can’t lead you to you, and what one may hear as warning signs some may find as invitation to move closer, to swallow cannonballs, swim under bridges and ride bullets. The last dragon fruit might not breathe desire as the first, and the cupcake box can be half empty or full depending on who’s eating. A friend, a lover, a nemesis may make us feel smarter or dumber or worse yet normal in the face of miraculous creation, but alone we can marvel at the insanity of art fully immersed and unjudged.
This isn’t to say sharing a sunset isn’t special or that hanging upside down on a jungle gym while the love of your life tries pulling themselves up from the sand can’t rival meditating alone in the ocean. Together, strip to your knickers and try watching earth from a revolving restaurant on the sun or exchanging magnificent smiles on benches with other people’s names almost etched on their thermoplastic. Fill your belly buttons with breakfast cereal and spoon, sit nose to nose exposing truths while sharing subs with your heros during insectless picnics in parks. Put your headphones together, inhale essences, and arrange your names in lady bugs and popcorn. Sure, traveling alone is a one of a kind experience, but locking lips during an eclipse can sometimes eclipse the brightest of light saver sparks sitting solitarily inside the darkest of forests.