When I was 15, I set a goal. By age 50, I would have visited every state in the U.S. By age 75, I would have visited 30 countries.
You could say that I’m doing pretty well. I’m 31, and I’ve already visited 38 U.S. states, several of them more than once. Though I’m on the fence about Idaho. I’ve technically “visited” it, but only by driving through its southeast corner, a jaunt that took a total of about an hour. So I might re-visit Idaho again. At least to see if their potatoes are really the best.
But the countries? I haven’t been able to start on that list yet. It’s something I’ve been silently kicking myself for, considering that I’ve lived in NYC for nearly a decade. How much cheaper and easier are international jaunts when you live in the layover point for most journeys? So cheap! So easy! (sigh) Not quite. Cheap-er, easi-er. But international travel still takes money, time, a plan. Things I haven’t quite been able to scrounge together yet. Mostly because I’ve been in denial of my itching for international travel, and thusly haven’t really allowed myself to acquire money, time, or a plan. I know that I could wait ’til age 45, visit a country a year, and still reach my goal. But I’m itching to start sooner than that.
Itching? Hungering, more like it. Particularly for the last few years.
I’ve satisfied this hunger in small ways. I watch foreign films. I dabble in languages. I look at picture books of foreign landscapes and breathe in the images. I research overseas work projects and tour packages and backpacking blogs and airline prices – just “for the future”, I say. And when I really get the itching to wander, I turn off my phone, grab my bag, and “disappear” for a few hours, an evening, a day, and wander through NYC. I always find an adventure, something new to discover. And then I return home, feeling “traveled” enough for the day.
But sometimes the small satisfactions aren’t enough. I want to get up and get out so badly that I feel set to burst. My mind speeds and jumps to every possible subject. I pace. I fill up to the brim with nervous scattered energy, and it spins and spins and spins until it churns into thick grumpy butter. I get weepy and sad and frustrated. And no amount of “Amelie”-watching will help.
Last night was one of those nights.
I went for a walk, wandering about my neighborhood. I’d watched a foreign film – several. I’d rented an RSC Shakespeare Master Class [and again started dreaming of the day when I'd visit The Globe. What did it smell like? Did the stage boards creak?] I’d also amused myself with an experiment: I remember phone numbers much faster in Spanish. But these distractions had worn off. They weren’t working. I was getting weepy, and sad, and frustrated – fast. I opted for a rather pitiful choice: fast food. I trudged into a Burger King and ordered a veggie burger and a large luscious pile of greasy onion rings. I knew this would be a temporary damper, a comfort food “fix” for my weepiness, but I figured, “hell, I’m PMSing, I deserve it.”
And that was when I encountered George.
I was handed, amongst my change, a crisp dollar bill that looked like this:
I blinked. Stared. Blinked again. Then I grinned from ear to ear. My dollar bill had traveled! Traveled!
Immediately my imagination kicked in. How many places in the world had it been to? How many lives had it crossed through? If this George could talk, how many glorious stories would he tell? The dollar bill suddenly held a powerful and curious energy in my hand. Obviously, all money carries this energy, this history. But the fact that someone had thought up the idea of tracking this energy, this history – this person was my new hero.
As George instructed, I visited the website written below his lapel, entered in the serial number and year of my dollar bill, and found the following:
“This bill has travelled 118 Miles in 1 Yr, 21 Days, 2 Hrs, 21 Mins at an average of 0.31 Miles per day. It is now 108 Miles from its starting location.”
118 miles. I was holding a dollar bill that had traveled 118 miles! They even had a map to show all the places it had traveled to!
I was sad, though. George hadn’t been traveling for very long, nor had he left U.S. soil. Much like me. But…I was also gleeful that his journey had just begun, and I was the first New Yorker George had come into contact with. I represented both George’s jumping off point and mine – to see the world! What an incredible thing!
I’ve decided to take this as a sign from the Universe that it knows I long to travel, and that travel – exciting, transcendent, world-wide travel – is definitely on my horizon. In the meantime? I will send my intention, trust, and dollar bill – George – out into the world while I wait and plan. I have several friends with international addresses. I’m going to mail George to one of them, and have them trade it for their own currency, I’m hoping that, once George finds his way into the hands of someone returning to the U.S., they’ll get inspired like I did, and send him to another country; and then another traveler will, and another and another. Perhaps I’ll add an inspiring request on the bill itself, or the tracking website. Not that I want to impinge too much on the original handwriting, the original experiment. I must give credit where credit is due.
Whatever happens, I’m going to sit back with glee and see where George goes.
Then…I’ll see where I go.
