Traveler or Tourist

Last night I went to a lecture on one man’s journey in his professional and personal life. He made a distinction between traveler and tourist, and had defined himself as a traveler because his journey had a purpose. I can understand this distinction since the word tourist is often connected with deceit, poor taste, and is considered superficial. Tourists are people that true travelers loath to be associated with.

Because of my love of travel, I was immediately interested in pursuing the distinction further. For me, travel started as a quest of the impossible. My parents rarely left their home except to visit relatives in neighboring states. By the time I entered high school, I had joined groups that took me to Virginia and Washington D.C. College allowed me to spread my wings even further, much to the disapproval of my protective father. I attended a semester abroad in England, traveling through Europe before and after my classes. Travel continues as a passion in my life, one I hope to pass on to my children.  I enjoy the pursuit and planning of trips nearly as much as their eventual execution. My family has come to rely on my planning as the cog that rolls the whole families’ wheel to new and different places multiple times a year.

Coming to the discussion with this much baggage, I would like to better understand how others define “traveler” and “tourist.” We’ll start with traveler, the older of the two words, which can be traced back to the 1480s, and is defined as “A person who is travelling or going from place to place, or along a road or path; one who is on a journey; a wayfarer; a passenger.” ("Traveller." Def. 1a. The Oxford English Dictionary. 2nd. ed. 1989). Tourist, first appeared in the 1780s, and is defined as“One who makes a tour or tours; esp. one who does this for recreation; one who travels for pleasure or culture, visiting a number of places for their objects of interest, scenery, or the like; spec. a member of a touring sports team.” ("Tourist." Def. 1a. The Oxford English Dictionary. 2nd. ed. 1989). If these definitions are to be referenced, the difference between the two words seems to be centered on intent. While a tourist visits places for amusement or pleasure, the true traveler is on a journey which suggests movement from place to place along a committed route. The phrase “going places” comes to mind, as the traveler may be seen as much more serious about her journey. 

Recent travels to Greece make me doubtful that the word tourist is a recent invention. Destinations such as the Oracle of Delphi and the Theatre at Epidaurus were places that people gathered for both spiritual and physical renewal. Each of these locations had both a faith and cleansing component that made them much more like modern day spas and natural wonders. I could easily imagine the ancient visitors collecting trinkets as reminders of their visit before reluctantly returning to their homes.

 

When I started writing this commentary, I wanted to claim the depth of purpose of a “traveler” since to be a “tourist” seemed superficial. Now, I think the two words mean roughly the same thing. While I am sure that a “tourist” is on a journey to places, I am also sure that a “traveler” experiences pleasure and amusement during her travels.  I plan to continue to pursue both options.

Ode to Office Supply Stores

Why are office supply stores so inviting? In a world where people feel like they lack control over the most basic of elements of their lives, there is nothing quite so inviting as an office supply store. With rows and rows of products, all neatly organized in bright colors and smart design, the store is a treat to both eye and orderly imagination. Corner kiosks feature the latest must-have products from colorful clips to a complete line of moleskin products expanded to include everything the moleskin user desires, from pencils to carrying cases. What does the need to own products of this sort of stuff tell us about our own human condition?

I think that I am not alone in my admiration of a well-stocked office supply store. Last week my son’s pencil supply was depleted to critical levels. Knowing what an emotional response could be generated by the purchase of poorly designed writing accoutrements; I put off my stop to the office supply store until he could accompany me to its hallowed grounds. Finally, we arrived at a spare moment on Friday night while we were wasting time before having dinner and picking up his sister. He spent no less than a half hour weighing the options of aesthetic verses function. Color, style, eraser length, and price were all part of the criteria used in the selection of the perfect mechanical pencil pack. After apologizing profusely for the time it took, which really wasn’t necessary, he selected three packs of pencils, a home pack, a school pack, and a low-budget loaner pack of standard-issue yellow non-mechanical pencils.  He talked at length about the importance of making a good selection and how it would impact his success at school and beyond.

Days later, he continues to revisit the trip and his selections as a highlight of the weekend. This might be a sad commentary on what little we did this past weekend, but I think not. Instead it makes me wonder if he was predisposed to take pleasure in his trip to the office supply store, or if I passed my fondness for the products on to him. This isn’t the first time a store of this nature has attracted our interest. On trips to larger cities, we now seek out comic book stores, bookstores, and art supply stores, which have the same office store atmosphere with even cooler stuff.

Maybe the allure of the office supply store lies in the desire to acquire cool stuff? They seem to sell us stuff by appealing to a need to provide us with better versions of what we already use. Who can get by without paper, writing utensils, and tape? Yet, who knew that these sorts of things could be attractive in addition to functional, and could be connected to our very identity. We somehow feel better about ourselves when we have a pen or a tape dispenser in our favorite color. It allows the people around us to better see who we are by the stuff we collect. I think that office supply stores are inviting because they combine identity to necessity, and allow self-expression in the presentation of the ordinary.

Yippie-yi-yo-ki-yay

Today as I walked to my office I was passed by a young man in cowboy boots on a pink scooter. He turned the corner near the Fine Arts building rather abruptly and headed south towards some unknown destination.  I like to think that he was an engineering or business major and always traveled this way. Bikes, long boards, and scooters on common on campus, but the color pink c added its own distinctive flare.

Cowboy boots are also a common sight in the west. Everyone from deans to the president of the university wear them. They are readily available in our numerous feed stores and come in a wild array of styles and colors. One local woman I know wears her Utah purchased pink cowboy boots daily with much notice on the streets of Paris. She has small feet and a slight form that allow her to shop in either the women’s or children’s sections which make her choices even more diverse and individual.

My kids are westerners by birth. Both wore cowboy boots as preschoolers; Hana red ones and Ben black ones, but the style choice certainly didn’t stick. Recently I noticed that they lack traits and styles that would make them seem like westerners, even though they were both born in the same hospital room, by the same nurse midwife, in our mid-sized northern Utah town.  Some things just don’t stick, and having parents who are Mid-westerners and prefer larger cities to anywhere in Utah has not helped them settle in to their heritage.

When we discussed their origins last night at dinner, Hana claimed to be British because of an online survey she took. This bears out somewhat in the black heavy stitched Doc Martin shoes she wears. Still, her love of anime and all things Japanese give her a more decidedly international flair. Ben was non-committal about his western heritage.  He prefers to identify with his likes, dislikes, and hobbies.

This makes me wonder if I am a displaced person raising unconnected children. I was born in Indiana while my parents lived in Michigan, a half-hour away. Having lived in seven different locations before starting middle school, my life never really felt settled. My dad was from Wisconsin, and because he felt strongly connected to the state, he talked about it often and jumped at the chance to move back. When we moved to Janesville, I became a Wisconsinite too. I married an Iowan, so both of us are at least connected regionally. We lived in Chicago for nearly five years and during this time I had to fight my dislike of Illinois folk to get along. Illinois was seen as a rival state, one that invaded during summers to vacation and abuse our many natural resources. I was always happy to return home. Even now, whenever I fly into a Wisconsin airport, the people feel right, with sensible taste and a good sense of humor.

Returning to my earlier encounter with Mr. Cowboy boots and a pink scooter, I don’t really think that this young gentleman thought twice about his identity before leaving home today.  Perhaps people don’t think about where they are from unless they leave. They just grab their identity and go. I suspect both of my children will feel comfortable in almost any environment, so place doesn’t seem to matter.

Know thyself

I was reading an article this weekend on developing an exercise routine and was struck the 11 simple questions it directed the reader to ask themselves:

1. Are you a morning person or a night person?

2. Would you like to spend more time in nature?

3. Would you like more time in solitude; or more time with friends; or more time to meet new people?

4. Are you motivated by competition?

5. Do you enjoy loud music?

6. Do you do better with some form of external accountability, or does that just annoy you?

7. Would you like to challenge yourself with exercise (whether by learning a new skill or pushing yourself physically)–or not?

8. Do you like sports and games?

9. Would you like more meditative time, or more time to watch TV, read newspapers, etc?

10. Do you have a lot of control over your time?

11. Are you sensitive to weather?

Want an Exercise Routine You'll Stick To? Ask Yourself These 11 Questions | The Happiness Project

Asking these simple questions helped me understand why many of my best intended exercise scenarios never last.  I have a couple of friends that have succeeded at adding fitness into their lives.  One is motivated by the outcome, a longer healthy life. She seems to vary her routine so that she can get snatches of exercise wherever she is. Sometimes she works with a trainer, sometimes she does Zumba, and whenever possible she takes long hikes alone in nature. The other friend seems to be motivated to be more social. She seems to truly enjoy the relationship she has with her trainer. I often hear her gathering people together for a hike, ski, or bike ride. Both friends have an autonomy over their schedule that I lack.

Last summer I bought myself a Striiv pedometer and committed to walk 10,000 steps a day. It was easy at first because my summer lifestyle allowed for a time to walk the dog in the morning and at night, my kid-related driving is much reduced, and I enjoyed walking to work. This worked well for me for almost seven months. When everyone returned to school, I was able to park my car far from my office and also walked mid-day.  In January, my community experienced one of the worst bad air inversions of my time living here. I found that the only way I could keep myself indoors was to take off my pedometer and put my routine on a hiatus.

This led me to try out a “No Dumbbell Required” required workout in my office, purchase a $15 rower at the thrift store, and do some cross-country skiing. None of this worked quite as well as my beloved walks. I found that the rower and exercises were hard on my knees.  And, while I liked the skiing, my boots still gave me blisters.  As March nears, I hope that the bad air clears and that I can return to my normal routine. 

So, how does all of this lead to knowing thyself? I think the point of the questions from the Happiness Project was to be realistic. Finding a routine involves fitting it into an already established lifestyle, not the other way around.  Small changes are much easier to adopt and live with. I can’t make myself into something I’m not, but I can work with what I have.

In the company of other women

Friday is my favorite day of the week.  It is my first day of the weekend since I work part time and do not usually have to go in to my office job. It is set aside for all sorts of tasks and errands.  But, the main reason that I love Fridays is that breakfast usually finds me in the company of anywhere from one to seven wonderful women. We’ve been gathering in this way for most of the time I have lived in Utah, nearly twenty years. It has become a time devoted to catching up, solving problems, sharing ideas, exchanging gossip, and all the rewards of having women friends. 

I’ve always known that I am lucky to have such a regular, scheduled gathering, but a recent email correspondence with a friend reminded me of how treasured the event might be. She said that “it's always good to hear from other women.  I so much more appreciate these days how we see the world.”  More than just an email correspondence, my breakfast friends and I share a female perspective on how we see the world.

I usually don’t stop to appreciate that women do see the world differently. Much of what goes on at breakfast happens below the surface. It’s a time where listening takes place. We say things that others listen and respond to. Sitting at breakfast talking feels like sitting around a fireplace where the warmth is shared. It also allows us to all stop for a little while and get in touch and respect our feelings.  We have a place where we can cry in frustration or relief without judgment. The group listens and responds in kind, often getting teary along with the speaker, realizing that sometimes we all need a good cry.

Today’s breakfast was a large group of six. One friend who had re-joined the group recently just returned from a seminar on creativity. Another friend needed suggestions for doctors and restaurants. Quite a few of the people around the table had attended a memorial service for a man who died and left behind a young family. The other three of us attended a string quartet concert last night and had that to share.

I found that after a rather kid-intensive week, I needed to be with grown-ups and listening rather than talking and telling others what to do. The group allows the comfort to its member to decide what they need, without prying into the week uninvited. Often it feels to me like we have a lens focusing around the group, circling from member to member, as we discover what we need that day. 

When we leave, it feels like we always have more to say, even if breakfast has lasted over two hours, which it sometimes does.  We leave and go our separate ways knowing that our day has been made better by the companionship we share. The warmth of the fire of female companionship stays with us long after we leave.