I began enjoying learning when I began wandering the world. No longer was I learning stuff simply to regurgitate it in hot exam halls. School on the road is different: the more you know the more you want to know. The world and knowledge and understanding all begin to fit together a little better. The more I learn the more I learn how little I know. But if I rush I miss it all. If I race through my journeys, one eye on the clock, eager only to tick off miles, or countries or sights, then I’mll accumulate lists but I won’t learn a lot. Truman Capote might dismiss it out of hand as, “that’s not travelling, that’s moving.” It’s yet another reason to slow down.
Spending time amongst lives very different to mine is a remarkable way of learning about my own life. I gain a clearer insight into what is good and what is bad about my own life. It reminds me to be grateful for my own life, though at times it provokes scorn at the frivolity of much in my “real” life.
Is the thirst for learning to better serve me back home in my real life, or is the learning out there sufficient in itself? Is my journey a means to an end? Or is it the whole point? I am not sure. Yet.

This text is an extract from There Are Other Rivers, available as a giant mappazine or a free Kindle sample.