The Road Home

At last I can say I'm a traveller.  I came to this realisation very recently, and only after a lot of thought on the matter.  However, my definition of "traveller" isn't what most people mean when they use the word to describe themselves.  I define myself as a traveller in the sense that we're all travellers - journeying down the road of life.  (Now that's a cliché if there ever was one! I should be embarrassed to use it, but it's exactly what I mean to say.)
I've written about my views on travel before ("A Grain of Sand," 9/5/12), and I still feel pretty much the same way.  Travel is a privilege much more than a choice.  Sure, there are people who have the wherewithal to travel and choose not to, but they are greatly outnumbered by the vast global majority who are unable to do so due to personal and/or political circumstances.  Travel is a privilege enjoyed by a fortunate few.
I've been reluctant to think of myself as a traveller because there were many years I was unable to get out and around due to financial constraints.  I felt imprisoned by my physical and monetary conditions, and was jealous of my successful, well-travelled friends and acquaintances, which only engendered more bitterness.  My life was in stasis, both physically and spiritually.  And the longer I stayed still, the more l was left behind, which made me feel as if I were moving backwards.  
Most of the movement I experienced was inward, and it wasn't always to a good place - full and diverse, maybe - but not where I'd deliberately choose to visit.  Eventually, in one of my more misanthropic moments (and there were many) it dawned on me that everyone's inner journey ultimately leads to the same destination - Death.  That came as a comfort to me, and not just because I thought like a depressed person.   I realised that even the happiest, most successful people end up dead, just the way I will.  Death is the Great Leveller.
My penetrating glimpse into the obvious still didn't compensate for my lack-lustre personal journey to meet the Grim Reaper, but it gave me moments of sadistic pleasure when I was forced to endure mean, disagreeable people by reminding myself that one day they'd be dead, too.
What can I say?  I was just as miserable and mean in my own way as they were.  But not anymore.  I'm still glad that we all die - natural cycles and all that - but I don't dwell on it with the same bitter relish that I used to.  Now I focus on living a large life, rather than a petty, small one.  And getting to this point has been the longest, toughest part of my path.
Now I feel as if I've travelled a fair distance, but it's neither the route nor the destination I had imagined for myself when I first began.  Finally I can say that's okay with me, and it's probably the best thing about what I once would have thought was failure.  Although I still have the bad habit of comparing myself to others, I understand that just because I may not have travelled as far and wide, maybe I've travelled just as deep.
- G. P.