What does a traveler do when they can no longer travel?

In the past year I’ve traveled exactly once. The last time that happened…well, I don’t know actually.

I’ve traveled every year since my earliest days on this planet. I got the wanderlust gene from my parents. Every summer they piled us into the company car, usually a station wagon — hitched up the trailer, pulled out the map and found a road to travel down. By the age of 16 I’d been to every continental united state but one. I found myself in awe of the blackness of Mammoth Cave when the tour guide turned out the lights to show us how dark it was. I rode horses under the hot summer sun in the mountains above Jackson Hole. I watched rivers and wildlife go by riding the Durango to Silverton train as it traversed the canyons of Colorado. I wore the turquoise sweatshirt I took home as a memento until it was threadbare. In this way, traveling became part of my DNA. The question was never was I going to travel, but where I would travel. Then came 2020. As I watched the news in early January about a virus in a province in China I knew the year would change my habits. I didn’t know it would decimate every plan I had. I wouldn’t experience a long-awaited concert in a cave in Tennessee. I wouldn’t get to listen to new acts at the famed music halls that dotted the streets of Nashville. I wouldn’t be going to London to speak at a conference. No trips to Chicago to see my new dog nephew and niece. I wouldn’t get to see the Canadian Geese padding around the lake in front of my parent’s home in rural Michigan.

Travel isn’t just a way of life, it’s also how I manage my mental health. There’s something about navigating my way through a novel landscape that I find rejuvenating. Seeing new lands and new faces gives the kind of reset my brain needs. Because of the benefits to my mental well-being, I prioritize travel. Without it, I’m well…I don’t know. I’ve simply never considered it but 2020 forced me to. As I stayed at home protecting my physical health, I grew concerned about my mental health. I had zoom happy hours with friends, took social media beaks, started doing more puzzles, wrote more. I kept up my regular self care routines. It helped but I still missed the enigmatic lure of faraway lands. I started to travel in my mind. Eating oysters with my husband in Amsterdam. Oogling over puffins on a wet peninsula in the Faroe Islands. Writing in my favorite cafe in Berlin. I started traveling in my mind by accident as I found myself lost in a memory while making my morning matcha. Then it became a deliberate act. A way of giving myself the desperate break I needed. Then we started to explore with food, making meals that reminded us of our journeys. We made vietnamese coffee, taking us back to the hot days we wiled away in Hanoi. At dinner a bowl of pho, reminding us of the tiny shop we ate where we slurped the best bowl we’ve ever had. I wandered by the lake in Central Park before a doctor’s appointment, staring in wonderment at the ducks hunting for food beneath the surface. I took long walks through my leafy neighborhood, marveling at the architecture and snapping photos. I lingered over the vintage VW bug, dreaming how I might escape my New York neighborhood if I had a car. I shared my strolls on Instagram, giving others a glimpse into a different world.

Then I discovered YouTube videos that simulate being in a coffee shop. I felt left my home all while working at my desk. The soft jazz, the background clatter of mugs and whispered conversations made me feel like I’m somewhere else. I’m able to focus, find a rhythm. When I push away from the desk for dinner it feels like I’ve taken a journey, at least in my mind.

Last year I spent nearly three months on the road, this year it was three days. I still long for the road and can’t wait until it’s safe to travel again. Until then I’ll be traveling in my mind and finding well being in every moment even inside my four walls.