In the novel by Alain de Botton, The Art of Travel, the existential meaning of travel is brought about by the musings of the author as he explores the world and uses the point of view of other philosophers or authors to guide his writings. In a particular chapter titled, “On Travel”, he discusses how one actually goes about traveling, a part much overlooked. He goes on to use a series of paintings by Edward Hopper to illustrate the seeming loneliness that can be incurred in transient places, halfway destinations. These paintings seem to represent the people who are homesick for a place that does not yet exist, or they do not know of, to those entranced with wanderlust and yet are still lonely, as so many travelers are. These people have abandoned what they know and have gone into the open world in search of something more meaningful that gives them an explanation as to why they feel the way they feel. Although their isolation is somewhat sad, it is also without sadness that these figures sit, read, and drink alone, pensive and lost in their own analyses of themselves. He says, “The figures in Hopper’s art are not opponents of home, per se; it is simply that in a variety of undefined ways, home appears to have betrayed them, forcing them out into the night or onto the road. The twenty-four-hour diner, the station waiting room, and the motel are sanctuaries for those who have, for noble reasons, failed to find a home in the ordinary world - those whom Baudelaire might have dignified with the honorific, poets” (51). Traveling is like living as an open window, you feel the wind push through your curtains and blow through you as though you are both transparent and transient, as though after you had made this decision you became a chalk outline on the pavement to be filled with any manner of things. Your suitcase can be filled with the physical weight that you’ll carry; after all, you’ve packed it full of deodorant (I hope), clothing you’ll never wear, things you’ll never use, but pieces of you that remind you of where you came from, that that home is a place on a map and still indefinite. These are the things you quickly learn to live without, you display them on the inside of wardrobes and tape them up, but when a slightly more orange Shanghai night sky knocks on your walls, and your windows look like deep bruises on the shell of your new home, you might be tempted to grab for these belongings, or to call your family, your friends to huddle close with you and temper the sting of singularity you will at some point feel. Yes, you can do this from the first moment to the last moment. You can wrap yourself in a blanket you took from your mother’s bed, pull yourself into an old world, and let somebody tell you that the fear goes away, and the singularity can be replaced with plurality, that you’ll go home at some point and everything will be as it was. Still, I sense that you, dear NYUSH freshman, know this is no longer the case. You will never be the same person that you were when you stepped off the plane in Shanghai, that person is gone and from start to finish this year at NYUSH will be formative, it will generate a new ability to adapt, a new sense of self, and a person who knows that singular traveling is about more than your next Instagram (although NYUSH students do have some of the best, if you’d ask me). I realized after a few years of exploration and the five consecutive and non-native countries that I’ve hopped through, that I was and will always be homesick for a place that does not exist, and in this way I understand Hopper’s figures and Alain de Botton. It is a continual appeal of the night, the appeal of an open world at your fingertips, the appeal of a potential home that keeps students like you going. You are all thirsty for more than existential experience but meaning in your life, some of you came for the pagodas, the language, the food, the friends, or the sheer thrill, but you will all leave a different and melded class. Traveling is about finding something more than home, more than external comfort, traveling is about that moment where something seems to click, and you understand yourself and your place in the world better. This is what awaits you during nights where you feel isolated and alone, and it doesn’t happen on the beach that you’ve idealized, in the café you’ve been day dreaming of, or the spa you’ve so intelligently booked. It happens in transient places, the spots you never thought of, a train ride, a late night walk where you forgot the time and realize in a rush that you’ve missed dinner and should probably eat before tomorrow. Traveling is about being in transit, moving, the sensation of being, often times, singular in the world. It is that sole singularity for me that gives me the belief that loneliness is the feeling that allows you to understand why you are the way you are. In the end you can pick any method of handling this huge life change; you can cover yourself, empty yourself, clean yourself, busy yourself and resurrect yourself, but after all of the things I have felt and seen in this world, I don’t believe any of these are good options every time. You must occasionally allow the force of impact to rattle you, you must occasionally fit yourself inside of the big world, rather than it in your palms because it is in this way, and this way only, that you will begin to grow, mature, and find faith in yourself and your decisions. Do not fear the transition - embrace it, and do not worry about finding a home - you will make one wherever you go. This article was written by Natalie Soloperto. Send an email to [email protected] to get in touch. Photo Credit: Zhang Zhan