Now, I imagine that my inherent laziness makes up a small part of this feeling. When in a particular frame of mind, the maxim ‘If it involves moving, the answer is no’ is generally one I’m tempted to follow. Sitting in a car marvelling at the wide spectrum of trees on offer and observing oddly-shaped clouds requires minimum effort and can be just as entertaining as any physical activity to someone easily amused. It’s more than that though. Nothing is required of you on a journey. Nobody will ever say, ‘Why don’t you do something useful?’ You will never feel guilty for not doing something constructive. I tend to favour creating imaginary scenarios to occupy myself, or thinking over issues that I don’t normally give any thought to. This valuable time to be rather than to do usually only comes in the time before one falls asleep at night, and that time is clouded by somnolence (great word; I just found it - 'A state of drowziness; sleepiness'). Other times I use to think are regularly pierced by irritating interruptions, such as my cycle ride to and from college - any musings are punctuated by thoughts such as, 'Move out of my way, moron!' and 'Why does this gentle slope feel like a mountain?' On a journey where somebody else does the steering and navigating, however, there are generally fewer impediments to contemplation.
A further appeal of journeys is the element of potential. When the eventual destination has not yet been reached, reality does not have to impinge upon the imagined possibility of what awaits. In my experience, things rarely live up to what dwells in my imagination. I am predisposed to form ideal expectations of things, and am therefore frequently disappointed when the scenes in my head are not surpassed by what eventually comes to pass.
It is quite the same with other areas. I much prefer dreaming about something I'd like to do than actually getting up and doing it, and facing the prospect that the endeavor might fail. I buy notebooks because I like the idea that they could be filled with interesting things, and then they remain empty when I can't think of anything worthy of filling them (I just counted, and I have over ten blank notebooks...) I gain an infinitely greater amount of pleasure from thinking up questions than I do from getting answers. And people seem to become far less attractive in my eyes when the attraction is mutual, because then there is a possibility that a relationship might develop and it would never match my idealistic expectations. This is surely the reason why obsessing over celebrities is much more fun: it can only ever be a harmless fantasy which reality need never taint.
So this Wednesday, when I get in the car to go to Liverpool for a family mini-break, I will not be complaining about the two hour drive. Unlike my younger brother, who will most likely ask how long it will be until we get there every twenty minutes, I will be enjoying the opportunity to do nothing but allow my thoughts to wander with no interruptions. Except for the occasional sighting of an Eddie Stobart lorry. They have individual names on the front, you see, so obviously I have to look to see what is is. Then I'll get right back to the philosophical musings.
