My whole life has been about the journey.

I never know exactly where it’s leading, but that is of minor importance to me.

I get off on the trip.

I get off on going somewhere.

Of course, I do have goals, but over time they change. Most of them never seem to come to fruition. Some of them come very close, but usually when that happens I pass over them because I’m too preoccupied with the next goal.

There is some sense of disappointment there, in just achieving something.

Robert M. Pirsig, upon arriving at a destination in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, wrote:

I couldn’t agree with him more.

I feel it’s more about the steps that you take to get somewhere than about the actual reward at the end of the rainbow.

The pot of gold is not so important.

The rainbow itself is far more beautiful. It has way more colours. It is light and fluffy, not heavy like a lump of precious metal.

On the rainbow you can jump from one colour to another. There are so many of them. They are infinite. They go on forever. A true rainbow starts and ends in the sky. It is not grounded.

And so it is with the journey. It has no end. It can start in the middle of nowhere and ends in just the same way. What happens in between is far more important.

That’s where you learn things. That’s where the experience is.

I am a wanderer, a nomad. I travel. I don’t have roots and I don’t plant them.

The other day I heard someone say that the average person lives in eight different houses in their lifetime. I think I probably did that before I even left my childhood home.

After that the number of beds where I laid my head were innumerable. I have stopped counting. I guess it’s restlessness.

Maybe I’m afraid that if I stop I will stagnate, dry up and wilt.

I have to keep moving.

More recently I have stopped moving physically and gone on a more cerebral journey.

You can call it what you will. Perhaps it’s self-discovery. Maybe it’s just the need to make a change in the environment I’m in, rather than change the surroundings themselves.

It seems to be working but I still have the nagging urge to get out. I am not completely grounded.

Although now I don’t necessarily do things on a whim. It’s more planned, more calculated. In the past I tried to do it this way as well. However, I was very quickly dissatisfied with where I was.

I wanted freedom.

I wanted out.

I wanted to escape.

Partly it’s about avoiding responsibility. Also the desire not to be controlled by someone or something.

At some point I noticed a pattern forming.

Everything had a shelf-life of about two years. I would give up after that period of time and then start again.

It could have been outside forces doing this but I am sure I played a crucial part in it as well. Fortunately I became aware of it. I have tried to change this pattern.

To leap over the twenty-four month hurdle and go on further. I am doing this with the book I’m writing. I started out with the plan to have it written and published in two years.

I knew deep down that I wouldn’t make that deadline.

Possibly I was once again leaving the door open for an escape route.

I could have said at the two year stage: stop, you haven’t got there in this amount of time and so you never will. I didn’t though. I kept going, and I still am.

I dread to think that it may take another two years or even ten. I don’t think I could stand that. But I do now see, and accept, that it will take longer than I thought.

This is what I keep telling myself anyway.

At any rate, I know that I won’t stop until I’ve finished this time. I’ll see it through to the bitter end. I want to find the pot of gold and then choose another rainbow to jump on.

I am sure that’s what lies at the end.

There are lots of rainbows streaming out of the pot. You just can’t see them all from where you’re standing. So you should make sure you finish one journey before beginning another. Even though facing the end may bring some sadness.

Take one journey at a time.

Each journey ends with the beginning of another.