CrankyBuddhist   the learning never ends …

After hearing a presentation given by Phil Cousineau at Book Passage in Corte Madera the other night on the subject of The Art of Pilgrimage, I started blogging my own ‘deep’ thoughts about travel. Something that is not new to me, but I usually write about an individual place as a sacred spot, rather than as the journey being sacred.

Anyway, Cousineau acted as a trigger for this, for which I am grateful and here are the links to the two posts I’ve done so far:

Tourist, Traveler, Pilgrim

Soul Travel

As many of you might know, or not, I’ve been trying to get down to Mexico for some time now – since my last trip which was four years ago. I’ve been seriously going back since last May. That’s when I packed the suitcase that has remained packed for the last seven months or so.

But so far my path has been blocked. And it really doesn’t have all that much to do with the drug cartels along the border, although I did change my overland travel plans to flying down to southern Mexico. No sense in taking chances …

I write a lot, in other places, about the difference between being a tourist and being a traveler. The definitions of the two are as clear as a sunny day to me. Simply put, a tourist goes about on short trips, sees and does what they think they are supposed to see and do, and a traveler, just goes to find what is there. Well, that’s it in a nutshell. But there is also a difference between being a traveler and, well, traveling.

Anyone can get on a plane and go somewhere. A lot of people travel multiple times a year. They go for pleasure or business, and fly about the world at a moment’s notice. Many travel writers travel this way. Someone sends them somewhere on assignment and they go. They get the story or the photo, then go home and write about it. These people travel. They go from Point A to Point B, usually with a reason tucked into their pockets.

Some travel writers don’t even travel. They do their research from their desks and use their imagination to write about a far off location.

But there is another kind of travel. The kind where one doesn’t get to go until they are ready. The kind that feels like there is an undercurrent of purpose in the trip. One where timing is everything. The folks who travel this way are traveling.

So, back to Mexico.

Last May I was all packed and ready to go, then I got called back to work. The work stopped and my appendix got yanked out. Then there were house sits. Then there was the election and ok, I really wanted to work on the campaign and I also wanted to vote on election day so I waited and worked and voted. Then I was burnt out from working on the campaign. I did some yard work. I recovered from the campaign, but then my cousin came to visit. My new goal was Christmas but the place I wanted to stay, and a few of my other choices, were sold out. Pushed forward to the beginning of January. Bought a ticket, but I realized that I just wasn’t ready. Pushed back another week. Then I got a freelance job. Small, but I had to stick around for it. Ok, one more week. Then I came down with a horrendous cold.

Which I am now trying to recover from.

Will I ever get to Mexico? I’m beginning to not only wonder about that but I’m beginning to truly wonder about what it is that is waiting for me once I get there that I have to so be on the Universe’s schedule.

Anyway, what it comes down to is that travel happens on its own time. It can’t be forced, or coerced. If I was meant to be there this week, or this month, I would be. If I’m meant to be there next month I will be.

When it’s time, everything will just fall into place.

I’ve been participating in a conversation on a travel oriented discussion board about a certain travel destination (one of my favorites) possibly going non-smoking. Yay!

The conversation has gone from both ends of the spectrum but it always seems that people get confused about one thing. The smokers think non-smokers are anti-cigarettes-smoking because we care about their health.

That is just so weird.

I could care less if people are smokers. I could care less about their health. If cigarettes are making their days happy ones, then who am I to deny them happiness?

I don’t care if smokers smoke. I do care if they smoke around me. I make a huge effort in my day to day running around in this life to not be around cigarette smoke, or resolve myself to be sick if I am. I will leave if I see someone light up. I won’t go to a restaurant that has ashtrays. I’ll cross the street if someone is walking towards me smoking while they walk. I can’t be in a car with my own mother … But fortunately in California, I don’t have to worry so much about it anymore.

But it’s the passively hurting other people, namely me, that gets me riled up.

I find it weird that smokers think it is their ‘right’ to passively hurt other people. I understand the right to want to do as you please and not wanting to be restricted. There are a lot of things in this world that I would like to be able to do but are against the law, or against the ideals of capitalism, but that’s another post. But none of the things I want to do would hurt other people (as far as I know).

I really don’t care if people smoke, it’s not a self-righteous liberal ideal I hold, but rather that I’m allergic to cigarette smoke. Not smoke in general, and not tobacco as I can be around cigar smoke and pipe smoke … I’m allergic to one (or more, but one for sure) of the 18 added chemicals in cigarettes – I think ammonia, because I get the same reaction from Windex.

As the conversation continues, the smokers will inevitably make comparisons between smoking and drinking or smoking and eating fast food, or junk food … but they just don’t get that, in the moment, their drinking or their eating fast food does not harm me or anyone else. But the smoke from their cigarettes does affect me, and everyone else who happens to be around a smoker.