For me, a vacation and a trip are two vastly different pursuits. A vacation is single minded in its quest for rest and relaxation in order for the vacationer to return home fully rejuvenated. On the other hand, a trip may be multifaceted in an attempt to meet professional and/or personal goals. These commitments and responsibilities may be extremely positive and rewarding but include an external expenditure of self such that the individual is likely to return home inspired but also spent.
I just returned from several weeks of trips and am currently digging out and regrouping in an attempt to regain my balance. Nonetheless, I appreciate that travel, whether a vacation or a trip, always broadens and changes one's perspective when immersed in a new culture, a fresh way of life, and novel experiences.
One of my favorite experiences from my recent travels was a visit to The Philadelphia Museum of Art. Here the creative expression of artistic stimulus touched on all my areas of interest -- cooking, architecture and interior design, history, gardening, education, and human expression. It was delightful.
I could relate to the cartoonist Connie Sun's piece on Van Gogh's Bedroom. If I could walk right into a painting or piece of art, I would enter a different time and space to get to know the perspective of the artist and subject more completely. On this visit, I took photos of some of the women I met. Their faces were fascinating, and I could imagine the gripping conversations we would have, if only I could enter their worlds. Take a look:
Travel is an invaluable gift. It offers us the opportunity to connect with other and ignite the imagination. I am so appreciative for the ride.
Travel
Edna St. Vincent Millay
The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.
All night there isn't a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And hear its engine steaming.
My heart is warm with friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing;
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
No matter where it's going.
*I remember lying under a sheet on my twin bed beneath the screened window with green gingham curtains on a hot and humid night in the Midwest. The railroad tracks ran about a mile from our house and a long freight train passed nightly. I can still hear the train sounding its horn and the rhythm of its wheels on the tracks. Somehow, I already yearned to engage in a broader world, and a train reminds me of the journey, where I came from, and where I still hope to go.
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.
All night there isn't a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And hear its engine steaming.
My heart is warm with friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing;
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
No matter where it's going.
*I remember lying under a sheet on my twin bed beneath the screened window with green gingham curtains on a hot and humid night in the Midwest. The railroad tracks ran about a mile from our house and a long freight train passed nightly. I can still hear the train sounding its horn and the rhythm of its wheels on the tracks. Somehow, I already yearned to engage in a broader world, and a train reminds me of the journey, where I came from, and where I still hope to go.
