Friends often ask me where I got my wanderlust. I suppose it comes from my constant desire for change—from something as simple as a change of scenery to the profound changes that travel has brought into my life. One of my favorite transformations has been the one from my old “squirrel self” into a wandering sole.
Why a squirrel?
As a little girl, I was deprived of many things because my family could not afford them. I remember longing for a pair of Levi’s jeans, a Parker pen, a pair of Skechers, a Jansport knapsack, an electric typewriter, and a Nokia 3210. Perhaps that was why, as I grew older and started earning my own money, I became more and more like a squirrel—always collecting things I once could not have.
A squirrel loves collecting shiny things. In much the same way, a person who develops a strong attachment to beautiful, seemingly mundane objects can become a squirrel of sorts.
I started by collecting small, pretty things, such as empty perfume bottles with beautiful designs. When I began earning my own money, I graduated to fancy jewelry, many of them gifts. I carefully organized my collection, making sure the gold pieces never mixed with the silver ones. If I had a particular gemstone color without a matching pair of earrings, I would not rest until I found one.
There were occasions when I wore nearly everything at once: matching earrings, a necklace and pendant, a ring, a bangle or bracelet, and a watch. Sometimes, in my enthusiasm, I would even add an anklet and a headpiece. More was, apparently, more.
Then came the bags, the shoes, the jewelry sets, the dresses, the gadgets. I collected and hoarded like a squirrel, often justifying my purchases by calling them “investments.” But when I eventually understood what an investment really was, I realized that many of the things I had accumulated were destined to become nothing more than clutter in my precious closet.
Traveling taught me how to be less of a squirrel.
To be on the go, I needed to pack light. One by one, I began letting go of the things I had been hiding in my closet. It had to start somewhere, and it started with that red pair of Ralph Lauren boots whose leather had long since deteriorated.
Travel also required a different kind of investment—financial discipline. Instead of spending my money on things I wanted to collect, I began saving for the next adventure I had in mind. It taught me to manage my finances and, perhaps more importantly, to recognize what was worth spending money on and what was not.
But the greatest lesson travel gave me was a new kind of collection: stories.
My collection of stories gradually replaced my collection of things. I realized that stories can touch lives, while possessions often only please the eyes. Expensive things may be considered status symbols, but they can also stir envy and, sometimes, make you an easier target for thieves.
Over time, I learned that it is far more meaningful to collect memories than earthly possessions—things that eventually become clutter and tell no story other than, “I spent money on this.”
In the end, my evolution from a squirrel into a wandering sole can be attributed to travel. Being on the road slowly stripped away my squirrel costume and taught me that I do not need to own everything beautiful that catches my eye.
Some things are better admired and left behind.
Some things are better experienced.
And some things are best carried not in a suitcase, but in memory.
Traveling taught me to be less of a squirrel because in order for me to be “on the go” when the times call, I need to pack light. One by one, I let go of those things that I had been hiding in that closet. It had to start with that red pair of Ralph Laurent boots whose leather had long deteriorated.
Traveling requires financial investment, so instead of spending my money on collecting things, I have to save up to be able to afford the next adventure I have in mind. It also taught me how to manage my finances, and this means being able to know where not to spend my money on.
Traveling told me a collection of stories, which replaced my collection of stuff. I realized how stories touch lives, while stuff only affect the eyes. They say having expensive stuff is a status symbol. It only stirs envy among your peers. It also makes you an easy prey to robbers.
Over time, I realized that it is more important to collect momeries, rather than earthly things that don’t tell any story other than “I wasted money on it.”
In the end, my evolution from being a squirrel into a wandering sole can be attributed to traveling. Being on a journey stripped me off my squirrel costume.
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