Travel Sucks

I grew up in a household that thought the pinnacle of adventure was going on a day trip to a nearby city no more than forty minutes away. Vacations were often just religious conventions my parents were obligated to go to and we'd be in a hotel for a couple of days in the same state and only really leave said hotel to go to said religious convention.

When I got older, developed my independence, got married and all that, I really thought "Wow, now I can travel more often, go to new places, see new sights, experience more of what life has to offer." Looking forward to this idyllic future was a huge part of my childhood daydreaming and angst, wanting to get my life to a point where I could simply do more.

Now I'm there, I'm able to do it. I'm able to go to concerts and honeymoon/anniversary trips and stay out of state in places or visit far off friends, I can do those day trips more often than once every six months. 

And I frickin hate it lmao

Travel is stressful, expensive, exhausting. No one ever knows what they want to do and you end up doing nothing. What you do ends up being touristy or not nearly as cool as you thought. You go to a theme park and your feet hurt so bad you want to rip them off your legs and sell them on the black market to help recoup the cost of your absurdly expensive hotel room.

It has its moments that sometimes make it worth it, but by and large, I come away with this sickening feeling that my parents might have actually been right about this one. I hate that part about it more than anything, because I really hated and resented the fact that I had so few experiences like these growing up, and now I guess I can understand part of what their hesitation was, and I'm not sure whether to be mad or feel healed in some way.

I write this from the King sized bed in this hotel room that is far softer, cozier, roomier, supportive, and worse than my bed back home.