Some might think a traveling bookstore would be enough. After all by its third summer in operation, the bookstore had been all over Montana (no small feat), to the Brooklyn Book Festival in NY, to events in San Francisco, to Portland and to the Seattle area. It had set up in Illinois and Idaho. It had been perused by the waitress at Trixi’s Saloon in Ovando and by a cop in Choteau. It had blown a tire in S. Dakota and had a small fixable oil problem in Coeur d’Alene.
And of course there are times when the bookstore stays parked quietly at home while I wander forth with a small suitcase and only a book or two. The current adventure has me in the Czech Republic with a brief foray to Vienna, and then later to Israel, Hungary and Romania. It was really just today though while buying a canvas (my third on this trip) that I realized different places pull out different aspects of who I am. While in my hometown, I’m compelled to volunteer, to give to the community which gives so much to me. In Brno, I find myself doing art on a daily basis – perhaps the lovely morning light in the flat where I stay. In Vienna, I could sit for hours (and do) writing: writing on a bench in the midst of the Impressionist exhibit, writing in a small quiet cafe). I remember once being at the Oregon coast with a friend over a long weekend sewing. As though I had to get as much sewing done as possible even though I rarely sew. Different places draw out different aspects of me, as though there isn’t a static me but a me that changes with place.
I wonder if this happens to other people. Is it one of the reasons we travel? And how do people who don’t travel manage to see all they are capable of doing?