I wonder and I wander. I need something to ponder, while pain interferes, some nights, with sleep.
I read a
magazine
that’s all about
curiosity
and named that too.
***
Curiosity Magazine’s readers are, well, curious. They’re curious about backgrounds, politics, ingredients, and people. They love stories. They ask questions. They look for local insight. They try to gain perspective. They want to be immersed in a place. They don’t have to be well traveled, but they aim to travel well. At Curiosity Magazine, we want to fill the world with better travelers. Join us.
***
Though I love it, curiously, I don’t strictly call myself a travel writer because I write about plenty more than travel alone.
I am, overall, a
curious
person and travel and adventure are made up of just that at their heart.
It’s the people and the places. It’s the feelings and, sometimes, the fantastical. It’s the traditions and the tourism. It’s the history and the holiday. It’s the wilderness and the wildness. It’s the nature and the natural. It’s the sensations and the stories told by me and by mysteries left untold and still telling.
It makes me say “what?” and “why?” and “for how long?” as I stumble upon more of what’s out there.
It’s the map and the globe and the app and the questions and exclamations in my future. It leaves me thinking endlessly about taking that next step, like the road Tolkien spoke of that’s just outside your door, waiting out there to take life’s travelers away.
That’s why literature makes me think, makes me wonder, makes me meander.
That’s why psychology makes me ask about another’s passions and fascinations.
It’s all up there, in my head and out there, just out of reach and keeping me reaching, arms all outstretched wide.
Her Headache 