northampton, ma

Solo travellers are generally not always the most sane of people to begin with, so I suppose it is somewhat understandable my mindstate yesterday. From September until mid May my brain was being constantly occupied with tasks and things that requires creative thought and output. Things such as my coursework and papers, books, music, my guitar, political conversation. Then I go on vacation. No school. No music. No guitar. Essentially I hit a creative void, where my life is reduced to very enjoyable and tranquil state as I travel, but a state that has more to do with observation of surroundings rather creatively interacting with them.

So my mind yesterday revolted against me, and finally I realized my constant daydreams and the persistent jukebox in my head (everytime a thought that reminds me of a line in a song, well that song just has to be mentally played and maybe hummed aloud and maybe if no one is around I might sing) were telling me something: my head was getting bored. Don't misundertand all of this, the trip so far has been stimulating and interesting and all sorts of good things. But the stimulation of travel differs from the stimulation of using one's imagination to create or interact with something, whether it's making up music on a guitar or writing in this blog (this blog has certainly helped, but I can't and do not want to be in a netcafe everyday).

I was in my hostel and was daydreaming again, lines of a story pulsing through my head as I envisioned a plot about a tortured artist who considered his success his failure. And before I knew it ... out I had to go! I remembered a store I had walked by earlier that had composition notebooks and pens and whatnot. I sped over (not in my usual ramble) and picked up a book and a pen, and went and wrote for an hour and a half in a cafe. Instant relief! Who knows (or cares) if the story goes anywhere, what interests me about the entire episode is the process of self-revelation that continually happens when on the road by oneself.