Become The Snail

Art by Griff

 “Wherever you go, there you are,” said the nomad. I half raised my ale in salute, appreciating the words if not absorbing them.

“To being there.” I added after a moment of performed reflection.

The nomad nodded, but I felt he wanted more. We sat for a second.

“Who are you?” He asked.

I repeated my name and my occupation - I had disclosed these when he first sat down next to me.

“No, no - how do you define yourself? What is at your core? If you lost your job, if you lost your name, who would you be?”

I stammered for a bit, not entirely able to process or answer. Surely I’d be me? How do you answer a question like that? “I'd be me,” I answered.

“Yes, but who are you?” The nomad repeated his question. Sensing my frustration, after a beat he added “it’s not an easy question.”

I agreed.

“Have you ever been caught in a lightning storm?” He asked.

“Yes?” I answered, unsure.

“And what did you do?”

I admitted I couldn’t quite recall - I probably ran for shelter.

“I once found myself in a torrential downpour,” the nomad started. “I was far from shelter, I didn’t have an umbrella or poncho, I was at the storm’s mercy. So, all I could do was look up. I watched the wind and rain push through the trees. I beheld the majesty of nature. I watched the lightning light up the sky and felt the thunder clap upon my chest. I was present. I was soaked. I walked to my destination when the storm died down.”

“Ah,” I said.

“I am someone who has heard the thunder, felt the rain, and watched the lightning. Change my name or change my job, cut off my legs or crown me king, at my core I know I stood there and absorbed that storm.”

“Sounds like a defining event,” I probed.

“It’s one of a million that have crystallized and clarified,” he half agreed.

I wasn’t sure what to add - I’d come to the tavern to get drunk, not Philosophical.

“Is that why you travel?” I asked.

“To find myself? He clarified. I nodded. “Yes and no - I travel because I know myself, but I also travel because there’s so much more to know. At some point every traveler must become the snail. Hell, every person should become the snail, in my humble opinion, but it is through travel one can learn easiest about what one carries.”

“The snail?”

“Ah, wherever the snail goes, he’s home.”

“So we carry our hells and that’s our home?”

“We carry baggage - cultural, emotional, and, yes, physical. Travel sheds some light on what we can and should carry.”

“So I should travel more?”

“Sure - but you can’t outrun yourself, you can only change.”

“Wherever you go, there you are?”