A (Re-)Reflection on De Botton

Heathrow RunwayAgain, I write late. I’ve been trying to adjust to the new city and just, yeah, doing orientation stuff for the past 24 hours. Jet-lag has been horrible as I’m sure it has been for everyone else. There’s also a flu “epidemic” in Germany right now, so I’m trying to get as much rest and hydration as possible to keep my immune system up. Anyway, I’ll start writing this blog entry seriously now and really try and keep up with everyone else since (A) I need to get back into academic mode despite classes not starting here for a few more days and being new to the city and (B) naturally, I want to keep a good GPA and not ruin it because of the difference in the study abroad program dates. Okay.

Reading and discussing the Art of Travel by Alain de Botton last semester for the introduction to going abroad class that I discussed in my two earlier posts that were posted was really memorable and somewhat confounding. We also watched a bit of the film adaptation for the film and that certainly had a different tone to it. The humorous dry tone, once given a face and a setting, grew much less pretentious and condescending than I felt the printed word was. This definitely was how I grew fond of de Botton and grew inspired to continue reading the rest of the book.

I remember reading (and watching) the first chapter last semester and, mostly I’d like to discuss how my readings have changed since being abroad and having read a bit more of the book. As I’ve only been here an extremely short while, though, and am so ridden with culture shock(s), it seems impossible for me to be true to a comparison. Perhaps for a later post, I will be able to do a comparative reading more closely. It also helps that I kept a blog on this website last semester so I can refer back or try to tap into exactly what I was feeling about in and outside of class in relation to the readings. In any case, though, a particular quote that struck me, as written by de Botton goes, “[w]hen feeling sad at home, I have often boarded a train or airport bus and gone to Heathrow, where, from an observation gallery in Terminal 2 or from the top floor of the Renaissance Hotel along the north runway, I have drawn comfort from the ceaseless landings and takeoffs of aircraft” (33). Here, of course, de Botton is being self-reflexive, using the Baudelaire he had just mentioned as a lens of analysis. To me, originally, the notion of this seems absurd, pretentious, even escapist. Why would anyone just dream of leaving all their problems behind? It seems pointless and limited, immature. Furthermore, an adult, for the most part, is not capable of imagining themselves in another place to such a degree that their other problems seem minuscule. But this, of course, is where I am wrong about my initial impressions about de Botton’s work.

De Botton’s imagination, as well as my own, and I’m sure many others’ do not require an extended, romanticized, unrealistic placement of the self in another world to function properly. Since going abroad, I am not realizing that it isn’t the problems that one dreams to escape. Rather, it is simply the ability to work within and negotiate a new set of problems that allows the others to seem alien. Worries replace worries, but in a refreshing and vibrant way. And being exposed to a new setting, if even for a brief amount of time, can often give one an entirely new perspective with which to view the world that they had just left for a time. The part about travel that’s so interesting, then, is the implicit return back home. And certainly not to rouse the longtime debate of “tourist” vs. “traveler,” but as far as I can tell, both parties conceive of some spot in the world as their home and with that home comes the problems of home. Then, now just beginning a four month stay in another country, I already have been able to gain some clarity on my life that I hadn’t had before. No, I still don’t know what I want to do “when I grow up,” but the fact that this notion of “grown up” is treated entirely different here has helped me a great deal, and given me a bit of comfort. Similarly, differing ideas about financial burdens, a grand notion of happiness, and nationalism, so too, have helped me a bit with the way I deal with problems by the same name at home. I wouldn’t call it escapist, or immature, but rather a way to broaden one’s horizons.