My Life Is a Permanent, Eager Quest for Special Moments

Which explain, among other things, my constant desire to travel

I came to this conclusion by questioning something I had never questioned before: why was I so drawn to travel?

Over the past few years, I’ve been traveling two to three times a year. Sometimes far away, for more than a week, sometimes closer, just for a few days. Sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied. Before the upheavals due to the coronavirus, I even had planned to leave in July for some time as a digital nomad.

Travel is a quest for an elsewhere. And when a significant someone told me that I had to stop being convinced that it was better somewhere else, it would be a lie to say that her words didn’t hurt my feelings. You know what they say: only the truth hurts.

I have therefore actively set in motion the thinking process. What do I find in traveling that I don’t find in my everyday life? What is the purpose of this quest?

Suddenly, the answer hit me, obvious and compelling.

I was looking for special moments.

A quest for special moments

The second question then arose: what do I subconsciously recognize as a special moment? To answer this question, I have taken several examples of moments that I could characterize as such.

In 2018, I traveled alone for the first time. This experience took place in Hong Kong. As a part-time photographer, I decided that the purpose of this trip was to take photographs. It gave me a tangible goal. An acquaintance of mine had her cousin living there, so he put me in touch with her. One day during my stay, she invited me to a rooftop night barbecue that took place the day after. I was stressed out but I accepted. And I did well, as it was an amazing evening. We barbecued meat and vegetables, drank beer and chatted. The atmosphere was incredible, the lights of the city lit up our faces intermittently while the ambient noise enveloped our laughter.

— I’m having all the difficulties in the world finding examples that did not take place during trips, which is perhaps quite revealing —

— Here we go, I’ve got one —

Last year, as I was flirting with someone, we met up in a bar in Paris — where I live part-time — and spent several hours chatting, drinking beer (yeah, still beer) and laughing. Our conversation was endless. At some point, we decided to take a walk and ended up walking an hour and a half or so until we saw the Sacré-Cœur illuminated in its very special nocturnal atmosphere. We looked at each other in a knowing glance, before starting to climb the Butte Montmartre, for one empty of its crowd. We then sat on top of the stairs and contemplated the illuminated city. It must have been 1:30 in the morning.

I was about to mention the day I proudly and happily walked on the Great Wall of China, regretting that it was once again a rare moment in the sense that it’s not something I can do every day when I remembered the feeling that I had last year, each time I went out of the thaï boxing training. I felt light, full of energy, and profoundly good. That makes a good enough third example.

As I was racking my brain looking for memories of these special moments, I noticed a recurring pattern. Most of these moments happen while abroad or at night and are almost always shared with other people.

The most common pattern of all, however, seems to be the following: these moments make me feel deeply, profoundly alive. Connected in time and space. Mindful.

In search of the feeling of being alive

“I don’t believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive.” — Joseph Campbell

As far as there is this common pattern, which seems to make possible the identification, therefore provocation, of these special moments, it seems that there is a subtle and unpredictable balance to be reached. In my mind, it looks like this:

It happens without warning. There’s no telling when this deep feeling will appear. It’s as if these moments were taking me out of my “common” reality. As if suddenly, I was centered within myself, the time and space.

On her blog, author Kathy Gottberg wrote a sentence that resonated with me:

“[…] we start using safety, comfort or control as primary pursuits and then wonder why our lives are bland and without color or distinction.”

I can’t bear living an anesthetized daily life anymore. Looking for safety, comfort and control is exactly what I unconsciously did for the last few years, and here’s where it got me.

Maybe that’s why I like to travel so much. It takes me radically out of this anesthetized and boring everyday life.

However, I cannot write these words without a new question running through my mind. In principle, my life is not boring. At all. I’ve got passions, a job, a loving family and a nice group of friends. But despite my efforts to make do, I feel deeply that there is a lack somewhere. Am I being too demanding? Do I expect too much from life?

Deep down, I don’t think so. I just want to feel alive. Is it too much to look for?

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