Lost in contemplation.

Steve and I saw Lost in Translation yesterday. It is a dreamy, contemplative movie, perfect for a cold and gray Sunday afternoon. Later, as I was putzing around my house doing laundry and flipping channels, I thought about the type of snapshot moment the film captures. I've had experiences with people who passed evanescent through my life, yet left a profound impact in their wake. Often, the person him or herself has little to do with this impact; as is true for the characters in Lost in Translation, certain people have catalystic effects on us because they enter our lives at moments when we need to connect with someone else in order to access new pieces of ourselves or process internal conflict. Anyone who's discussed religion or metaphysics with me knows that I flatly reject the notion that "things happen for a reason." Instead, I think that certain people come into (or leave) our lives and certain experiences happen to us because, at a particular moment in our lives, we need something, and so we derive that from whatever source presents itself.

In the movie, the main characters are stuck in a Tokyo hotel, feeling jagged and disoriented by a Japanese culture that underscores their feelings of isolation and loneliness. Their connection is neither sexual nor truly romantic. Rather, they share a cathartic coming-together that allows each of them to articulate the dissatisfactions with which they live and play out the fantasy of a different life before returning to their separate realities.

Travel is especially conducive to this type of connection. I've certainly felt isolated and alone while away from home, and have forged unexpected connections with strangers as a result. But more often, I feel like I inhabit myself most completely when I'm farthest away from the trappings of my "normal" life. When I travel, I leave behind the clothes, possessions, titles, and routines with which I shroud myself. Underneath all of these layers lies the essential me, stripped of all barriers but those of language, experience, and culture. Sometimes, this makes travel particularly stressful, because I am forced to confront insecurities and limitations that my normal routine protects me from acknowledging. But more often, travel allows me to access strengths and abilities I've forgotten lie within me, because my normal routine also protects me from the challenging and the unknown. This feeling of "me-ness" is part of what I love about traveling, and surely plays a role in generating my incessant wanderlust.

When I start to feel that my life is becoming too predictable, that I am slipping into traps of habit and routine, and that I am beginning to lose myself in my own settled existence, I begin to spend inordinate amounts of time dreaming about exotic destinations and searching for frequent flyer seats to far-flung places. I'm feeling a bit of this right now, and since I don't have a major adventure in the works, I've been struggling to channel my restlessness into productive pursuits. I've also been trying to explore new and different experiences, and to open myself up more within the confines of my day-to-day patterns. This may not be quite as much fun as discovering hidden aspects of myself in the mountains of Bhutan, but it's a heck of a lot cheaper.