Certain realizations struck me in the middle of the night, which are hard to come by in the busy daylight. So I wanted to register them here. I have been discussing solo travel with a colleague of mine, for quite a few times now. It made me realize something about “making memories”.
When traveling with the people that we love, the memories created tend to be more impactful and enduring than those formed in solitude. It is that collective experience that makes it more pleasurable. Be it, laughing or crying together, it gets etched in the brain that forever lingers. A memory that lingers – that then can be summoned, re-experienced, and savored at any given moment. After all, we are social animals, our emotional experiences are multiplied when it is a collective one.
If I have to look back, my lasting memories, are the ones from when I was with my family or friends – though I have lived and traveled alone for a long time now. When I am back after such a trip, I come back with bulk of memories, a heavy heart with a tinge of ache.
On the contrary, having traveled alone for a long time now, I don’t think it is necessarily pleasurable, but very rewarding. Solo travel is more about, confronting, observing, feeling, being, and pausing. The emphasis is on the immediate experience itself, rather than the lingering memory of it. Consequently, the impressions left on the memory tend to be fainter. It is as if I immerse myself fully in the experience in that moment soaking it all in until it gradually evaporates over time. It is in essence living ‘then and there’. For the most part, the experience is steeped in a profound silence (which can get addictive). Whenever I travel alone, I go feeling heavy, and when I come back I feel a lot lighter and breezy. It is refreshing.
(Travel or life in general) The former has been advertised to me as the better one than the latter. No doubt that the former is beautiful, but I cannot bring myself to put one over another. It is not a simple binary of good and bad, for both carry their unique beauty. And both need courage – to be vulnerable and hold space for others takes courage. Equally, it takes bravery to be alone, to reach deep into the recesses of one’s soul. To embrace the other as ourselves takes courage, as does facing the darkest hours alone. To fall in love takes courage, and perhaps even more so, to fall in love with oneself.
It is beautiful either way. Or I guess striking a balance would be golden. Nevertheless, thanks to this mysterious midnight, that made me a little bit wiser.