A picture from where I was staying.
A year ago today, I was in Istanbul. A week ago today, I was on the road to New York. Looking at the fact that I won’t be going to Istanbul again any time soon, it occurs to me the importance of travel for being a writer.
Already, we’re tasked with rying to see the world with eyes that are just a little different. A little more willing to try to see things as they are, and how they could be. We’re not the only people who do this, but we’re some of them. Looking at the world, trying to see the world how other people see it, that’s part of what we’re supposed to do.
Seeing other ways of life, coming into contact with how other people look at the world, how they think about things, that’s our job. i have my own views on the difference between tourism and travelling, words that might mean almost nothing. But those small differences are exactly where writers are supposed to exist and to thrive. We live in those small cracks between what is and what could be, and we tell stories.
Travelling gives you access to new stories, ones that you weren’t capable of dreaming of before. Provides thoughts that you didn’t know. All this and more.
More than ever, I think we need to travel as writers. We need to see the world, to experience it, to taste things far beyond what we could ever find if we never left the harbour. So, throw off the mainlines and look to the horizon. There’s so much more out there yet. You need it.