Transit

For many people, leaving a place and going to another one is a daily experience that is normal, especially in our times. We have turned into wanderers, commuters, travelers, and sometimes even vagabonds in an unconscious way. Even if we are determined to reach another place, our destinations are not visible to the outside and can only be guessed. For the unknowing observer, all those individuals and their movements seem like an undirected flow with little or no context.

Any movement between places usually comes with some uncertainty. We leave one place to go to another. Usually, either the start or the destination is home—familiar and known. We embark on a journey in which we cross the way of other people and events, which essentially brings up unlimited possibilities for interactions. Nevertheless, being en route often is a task itself, and the desire for interacting is often limited or even unnecessary. In this manner, most things that happen on the way bear the flavour of coincidences, providences or destiny.

There are many reasons to move. I recently discovered that going somewhere just to understand what we left behind is one of them. I am wondering about the process of how our experiences on the way and at new destinations contribute to identity.

My own movements and travels rarely bear this pure intention. However, independently of the reason to move, I am often led by the desire to discover, to see and to experiment the previously unknown—to reflect on what I have and what I don't have and how those oppose and behave towards each other. I noticed, the longer the way, the more probable the direction of the swinging pendulum becomes: to feel more comfortable on my way with unknown occurrences and encounters, or to sense a discomfort of uncertainty and not knowing so many things, eventually missing the ordinary.