On a recent flight to New York City, my seat mate asked me what I did for a living. Still high from the release of my first book, I was all too happy to tell him I was a bona fide, true blue, working American writer. Two days post-release, I’m not afraid to say I was feeling pretty darn giddy about it. We chatted about the book for a few minutes before he asked, “So how does one get to write a book these days?”
“Oh, well, I’m a freelance writer,” I started to explain. “Before the book, I wrote for magazines, mostly science and a lot travel stuff…”
“Wait—you’re a travel writer?!” he interrupted. The man almost popped out of his seat with excitement, mustering more enthusiasm for the t-word than any of our previous exchanges about sex, love and brains (the subject matter of my new book). He couldn’t wait to hear all about my “exciting” career and peppered me with questions for the rest of the flight.
Okay, I get it. Travel writing sounds awesome, the kind of career that most 9-to-5ers only dream about. Admittedly, for the most part, it is awesome. I own that. My travel writing career has allowed both my son and myself to explore some incredible places and, more importantly, meet even more incredible people. But, as hard as I’ve worked to earn my chops over the past decade, I find that I’m not interested in being defined solely as a “travel writer” anymore.
Why, might you ask? It’s simple. As I get older—and the more I get to traipse around this big, bad world of ours—I realize there is more to write about, and more to life, than just traveling. A lot more. There’s as much exploration to be had in science, in policy, in health and in family, provided you care to look. But, beyond that, I have started to worry a bit about what being a “travel writer” represents to others. And, what’s more, if that persona may actually result in discouraging others from travel, which is the exact opposite of my intended goal.
Let me explain.
Ask your average person to describe a “travel writer.” Chances are, you’ll hear something about a fearless adventurer, a rebel, a bit of a Gonzo-esque personality with a well-used neck pillow and a zillion frequent flier miles. As I spoke with my new airplane friend, I could see his image of me changing from a sort-of-interesting author to this larger-than-life persona. And that’s a daunting thing to have to put on—and an even bigger one to live up to.
The “travel writer” requires you to go farther, do more and find new and tougher boundaries to push to try to fit into this jacket. I’m not afraid to admit that I’m not this person, despite some of the incredible destinations under my belt. I’m a Mom, a nerdy professional and a bit of a homebody. While I may relish the opportunity to explore the Galapagos, I also get excited about an all-day Law and Order marathon. Trying to keep up with this “travel writer” persona (as well as play one-up all the time with your travel writing peers) is exhausting—not to mention darn near impossible.
But worse, this “travel writer” can often unintentionally scare the very people we hope to inspire. The “travel writer” may inadvertently tell folks that the best and only way to travel requires peril and a hefty expense account. It demands ambition, fearlessness and a magnetic personality to rival Ryan Seacrest. It says that the destination is more important than the journey—and that transformative experiences are impossible without first boarding a plane or booking a $500/night hotel room. And I hate that because it’s so not true.
As I talked about my time in Europe with my seat mate, he kept saying things like, “I could never do that!” Once he grabbed on to that “travel writer” thing, he lost the ability to understand that, yes, indeed, he could. Anyone can travel. You don’t need to be a “travel writer.” And most “travel writers” are not the gallivanting extroverts he imagines. I wanted to tell him to let go of that “travel writer” thing. That he could get out there and explore, too—the only real requirements are an open mind, a desire to learn and a willingness to explore—whether you are in Antarctica or your own backyard.
As I see it, a writer’s job is simple: to offer escape and the occasional epiphany and to tell wonderful stories about places and people. Travel is not required, though, admittedly, it is a nice-to-have.
So while I’ll continue to wear my “traveler” mantle with pride—“writer,” too—I think it’s time for me to let go of the “travel writer” (even if my random airplane neighbors can’t). And I’m doing it so I can shrug this wannabe Hunter S. Thompson off my back and inspire more people to get up and start exploring.
Kayt Sukel is a passionate science and travel writer. She’s one of the faces of Travel Savvy Mom as well as the author of the controversial new book, DIRTY MINDS: HOW OUR BRAINS INFLUENCE LOVE, SEX AND RELATIONSHIPS (Free Press, 2012).
Love – this.
Re. the real traveler’s mantle….Yes. I feel this strongly. But I struggle with it too. Because as a sorta-kinda-wannabe-kinda-is “travel writer”, I try to stay immune from the expectations of people around me and online, and from my own impatience with myself. And I often fail. I write posts about how you can use your own town to learn to see with fresh eyes and how being a “traveler” is 90% attitude, 10% geography – but then I privately agonise about calling my blog a “travel” blog because I’ve mainly stayed in one place and picked through travel memories as much as written new travel-related material.
Not easy to deal with, those wider expectations – and they can infect a slightly insecure writer with slight insecurity, too.
But these days I think the problem isn’t the pigeonholing label – it’s the question that prompts it. Because is there anything more disheartening than having to boil down everything that you are and everything you do into one snappy little soundbyte?
“Hi! My name’s Mike.”
“Hi! So – what do you do, Mike?”
{usual lame answer] “Uh…I make a bit of money doing writing, and I, uh, have this blog, and….yeah.” *awkward silence*
{true unspoken answer} “Sorry, that’s a stupid question, and I’m complicated enough to be insulted by it, as you would be if I asked you and you had the wit to think it through like I just have. Want another shot?”
All this said – I want to be a British Travel Writer. (Khaki shorts, 6 weeks on the road now, leathery and gaunt, battered moleskine tucked into pocket, eyes that have seen too much buried in a face as creased as an elephant’s, sensible shoes fading fast, hipflask of single malt Talisker, pistol, malaria pills, mosquito net, untrustworthy map, something by Theroux).
That Kayt lady, she should write a book, you know.
This is a great. I think it goes to show that no matter where you work, whether it’s a 9 to 5 office job, or your working on the road as a travel writer, we still put unrealistic expectations and a lot of pressure on ourselves. I used to worry that I wouldn’t be able to fit the travel writer persona, but I’ve learned the only persona I need to fit is my own.