The Problem with Travel
My problem with travel is the same problem I have with life: I want to do everything.
Sometimes I drive around and realize I am stressed out because of all the places I want to go and all the things I want to do. I will be thinking “Oh, that restaurant is so good – I haven’t been there in years. There’s that bookstore. I should stop in there soon. And the library! How long has it been since I have been to the library? Look, the museum has a new exhibit!” It is all calling out to me – “Come, do, experience, taste!” Before I know what is happening, my mind is exhausted by the possibilities.
As my friend Jeff the Mad Dog would say “I have never been bored.”
As soon as I found out I was going to Atlanta, I started looking for things to do. I thought I might have a free evening and a half day in the city, so I looked up restaurants and museums. I decided I definitely wanted to see the High Museum of Art. The aquarium was there on my list, too. Did you know Atlanta has a PAPER museum? Oh, man, right up my alley. Can you imagine if they have a gift store there? [Faints].
Here’s what actually happened, though: I got to Atlanta about 5 pm, sick and tired. I ordered some middle eastern food delivered from a local place because I was feeling too punk to venture into the hotel restaurants, where I knew about 100 of my colleagues would be dining. I received the delivery downstairs in the parking garage like a drug deal and shuffled up to my room to shovel into my maw as I sat on the balcony, watching the CNN screen. The best-laid plans.
For the next day and a half, I was in meetings, then I decided I had better get a start on the drive to my brother’s house in Kentucky, because it was much, much further than I had anticipated, and I was feeling so sick I wanted to stop along the way and not try to push driving far into the night.
So no museum, no fancy restaurants, no aquarium. It just gives me an excuse to go back to Atlanta some day soon.