…as they raced along the road Milo continued to think of all sorts of things; of the many detours and wrong turns that were so easy to take, of how fine it was to be moving along, and, most of all, of how much could be accomplished with just a little thought.
from The Phantom Tollbooth
written by Norton Juster
illustrated by Jules Feiffer
Random House Children's Books, 2011
(e-book read on Libby)
originally published in 1961
When I was young, I liked to ride my bike. I’d sometimes ride to school. Sometimes I rode to the neighborhood swimming pool. I’d sometimes ride to Lawson’s for bread, not milk in those heavy, glass 1/2 gallon jugs.
Or I’d go round and round the block and end up home. The wind whipped my braid, the sky was blue, the flower-scented air invigorated me. The journey was the point of the ride.
Now I’m more into the destination. I don’t mind walking. I actually go out of my way to walk around town when I can. I walk to the library (if my book bag is not too full). I walk to the post office and the bank. I can walk to the grocery store if I don’t need too much bulky produce or too many heavy cans. In those cases, I consider the return trip as the more important leg of the journey.
I walk to our county fairgrounds to admire the flowers growing in their gardens. But I don’t see the point of walking (or riding my bike) around (and around) the block. I tried it and noticed the flowers in my neighbors’ yards and listened for birds and watched out for traffic. But it seemed pointless. I have a hard time getting past the futility of it all.
But, we’re all travelers, literally. Our Earth zooms around the sun every 365 or so days and we continually spin in place day and night at about 1,000 miles per hour at the equator and a little slower as we move toward the poles. We don’t feel the movement because everything is spinning at the same rate.
Some people are filled with wanderlust. The word itself comes from the German for desire + to hike. And for people who are full of wanderlust, curiosity about places away from home can feel insatiable. Their longing to be somewhere else, consuming.
And Walletbe.com suggests travel can eliminate prejudices as we discover we all have similar needs for food, shelter, and human connections. We learn to accept and understand different cultures and ways of life.
They also say, traveling to far-flung destinations helps us appreciate home, family, and friends all the more.
And in their article about Wanderlust, inscripture.com suggests when we go to a place where food, language, and the natural environment are different from home, and learn to navigate that place, travel becomes a confidence booster.
But physical travel to a different geographic space is not the only way to experience another culture, even another time.
Books, fiction and nonfiction, those written for adults and those for even very young children tell tales of journeys.
Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson tells of a boy who draws himself in and out of adventures with his purple crayon. After some narrow escapes, he draws up his covers and falls fast asleep.
The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is the story of a young prince who travels to many different planets including Earth and discovers what it means to be human. He returns home mysteriously to find the rose he loves but left behind.
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum shows how Dorothy Gale, angry with her “witchy” neighbor, gets caught up in a tornado, finds herself in a strange land, and finally is able to wish herself home again.
Homer’s Odyssey, C. S. Lewis’s The Hobbit, Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, Douglas Adams’s Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy are all examples of journeys. More than merely describing the physical space, the authors (and their characters) search for answers to life’s big questions. What is important? What does it all mean? Where are we going? Why?
And we readers travel with them, looking for answers to the same questions.
For some, the journey is all important. For others, it’s the destination. Some travelers are focused on the trip itself: the maps, the reservations, the sights along the way. Others concentrate on important landmarks, new cuisines, and different cultures.
Still others spend their wanderlust in a dictionary, moving from one definition and etymology to another. Or exploring in a library. Coming in with a purpose, maybe, but giving in to wonderful and unexpected mysteries, or recipes, or biographies.
Or the chance encounter with a real neighbor or an old friend like Huck Finn, or Rebecca, or Harry Potter or Katniss Everdeen.
Mostly, I like to stay home. I know where everything is. I always know where I want to go (even though I don’t always remember why I want to go there), and I don’t get lost. Unless I’m traveling to Manderlay or Oz, or tagging along with Milo after depositing my coin in a magic tollbooth.
In advance of reading the new book James by Percival Everett (Doubleday, 2024), I picked up Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain (Chatto & Windus, 1884). Published 20 years after the end of the Civil War but set 20 years before it began, Twain presents an America in the throws of racism, the plight of enslaved people, growing up in a backwater town, and finding the true meaning of friendship. Looking forward to James, where Everett tells us the story from Jim’s point of view.
Be curious! (and stop to smell the roses)
from The Phantom Tollbooth
written by Norton Juster
illustrated by Jules Feiffer
Random House Children's Books, 2011
(e-book read on Libby)
originally published in 1961
When I was young, I liked to ride my bike. I’d sometimes ride to school. Sometimes I rode to the neighborhood swimming pool. I’d sometimes ride to Lawson’s for bread, not milk in those heavy, glass 1/2 gallon jugs.
Or I’d go round and round the block and end up home. The wind whipped my braid, the sky was blue, the flower-scented air invigorated me. The journey was the point of the ride.
Now I’m more into the destination. I don’t mind walking. I actually go out of my way to walk around town when I can. I walk to the library (if my book bag is not too full). I walk to the post office and the bank. I can walk to the grocery store if I don’t need too much bulky produce or too many heavy cans. In those cases, I consider the return trip as the more important leg of the journey.
I walk to our county fairgrounds to admire the flowers growing in their gardens. But I don’t see the point of walking (or riding my bike) around (and around) the block. I tried it and noticed the flowers in my neighbors’ yards and listened for birds and watched out for traffic. But it seemed pointless. I have a hard time getting past the futility of it all.
But, we’re all travelers, literally. Our Earth zooms around the sun every 365 or so days and we continually spin in place day and night at about 1,000 miles per hour at the equator and a little slower as we move toward the poles. We don’t feel the movement because everything is spinning at the same rate.
Some people are filled with wanderlust. The word itself comes from the German for desire + to hike. And for people who are full of wanderlust, curiosity about places away from home can feel insatiable. Their longing to be somewhere else, consuming.
And Walletbe.com suggests travel can eliminate prejudices as we discover we all have similar needs for food, shelter, and human connections. We learn to accept and understand different cultures and ways of life.
They also say, traveling to far-flung destinations helps us appreciate home, family, and friends all the more.
And in their article about Wanderlust, inscripture.com suggests when we go to a place where food, language, and the natural environment are different from home, and learn to navigate that place, travel becomes a confidence booster.
But physical travel to a different geographic space is not the only way to experience another culture, even another time.
Books, fiction and nonfiction, those written for adults and those for even very young children tell tales of journeys.
Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson tells of a boy who draws himself in and out of adventures with his purple crayon. After some narrow escapes, he draws up his covers and falls fast asleep.
The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is the story of a young prince who travels to many different planets including Earth and discovers what it means to be human. He returns home mysteriously to find the rose he loves but left behind.
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum shows how Dorothy Gale, angry with her “witchy” neighbor, gets caught up in a tornado, finds herself in a strange land, and finally is able to wish herself home again.
Homer’s Odyssey, C. S. Lewis’s The Hobbit, Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, Douglas Adams’s Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy are all examples of journeys. More than merely describing the physical space, the authors (and their characters) search for answers to life’s big questions. What is important? What does it all mean? Where are we going? Why?
And we readers travel with them, looking for answers to the same questions.
For some, the journey is all important. For others, it’s the destination. Some travelers are focused on the trip itself: the maps, the reservations, the sights along the way. Others concentrate on important landmarks, new cuisines, and different cultures.
Still others spend their wanderlust in a dictionary, moving from one definition and etymology to another. Or exploring in a library. Coming in with a purpose, maybe, but giving in to wonderful and unexpected mysteries, or recipes, or biographies.
Or the chance encounter with a real neighbor or an old friend like Huck Finn, or Rebecca, or Harry Potter or Katniss Everdeen.
Mostly, I like to stay home. I know where everything is. I always know where I want to go (even though I don’t always remember why I want to go there), and I don’t get lost. Unless I’m traveling to Manderlay or Oz, or tagging along with Milo after depositing my coin in a magic tollbooth.
In advance of reading the new book James by Percival Everett (Doubleday, 2024), I picked up Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain (Chatto & Windus, 1884). Published 20 years after the end of the Civil War but set 20 years before it began, Twain presents an America in the throws of racism, the plight of enslaved people, growing up in a backwater town, and finding the true meaning of friendship. Looking forward to James, where Everett tells us the story from Jim’s point of view.
Be curious! (and stop to smell the roses)
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