When Did Everything Become a Journey?

On meaning in a world full of noise.

The other day, I was on my phone when a commercial for a fancy water bottle scared the daylights out of me. It was one of those aggressive video ads where no matter how many times you try, you can’t seem to close the window and your phone continues to shout at you, several decibels louder than you knew the volume could go. Like that wasn’t jarring enough, it concluded by promising to revolutionize my “hydration journey.”

What, pray tell, is a hydration journey? And why does my phone think I’m on one?

Is it just me, or has everything become a journey? In recent days, I’ve been peddled more quests than the entire Star Wars franchise, all in the name of “betterment.” A fitness journey. A wellness journey. A skincare journey. A meditation journey. A hair-growth journey. A home renovation journey. And my least favorite, a weight loss journey. Even the act of drinking water — a literal necessity, along with air and food and sleep — is being marketed like it’s some kind of makeover.

To be clear, I have no problem with the word journey. Nor do I take issue with the concept — traveling from one place to another, potentially learning or changing along the way. I love a good venture and have often made the mistake of signing up for too many at once. But to me, a journey is a thing you embark on of your own volition, not something you are sold.

I remember a time not too long ago, when framing something as a journey was a positive. “Life is a journey, not a destination… don’t forget to enjoy the view!” It was presented as the antidote to the rat race, offering a gentle, meandering approach to life.

Now, the voyage and the destination are inextricably tied, the seeker indistinguishable from the consumer. The word journey, once steeped in meaning, is starting to lose its depth. Every time I pick up my phone, headlines and taglines and captions and copy promise to have “the way.” It’s like I’ve been cast as Frodo from Lord of the Rings, despite the fact that I never auditioned in the first place.

One bottle to rule them all.

In literature, there are five types of journeys: physical, spiritual, emotional, inner, and imaginative. Whether it’s an epic like The Odyssey or the legend of the Holy Grail, or more recent memoirs like Wild or Eat Pray Love, the protagonist embarks on an adventure, facing roadblocks and challenges that ultimately lead to self-realization. Literal or metaphorical, the journey is often a profound undertaking, and as such, may continue long after the credits roll. No matter what the character accomplishes during our time together, we understand that the path to enlightenment has no end.

When we draw a parallel to our own lives, such stories have a lot to teach us. Sometimes it’s okay to lose the map and learn to trust our instincts. Even the most arduous path can empower us to make discoveries. We cannot know the limits of our strength, nor how much we are capable of, until we try.

In recent days, friends have discussed paths and pilgrimages that matter deeply. A sobriety journey. A fertility journey. A cancer journey. A spiritual journey. A healing journey. There are times when framing something in this way is helpful, a method for approaching life as a process, greeting each day as it comes.

All of us are the protagonists of our own life narratives, and as such, only we — not an algorithm — decide what to plug into the proverbial GPS. The point isn’t whether a journey is valid or worthy. Hell, a hydration journey might change your life. But that is up to you.

As the Buddhist meditation master Chögyam Trungpa wrote, in Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism:

“We do not have to be ashamed of what we are. As sentient beings we have wonderful backgrounds. These backgrounds may not be particularly enlightened or peaceful or intelligent. Nevertheless, we have soil good enough to cultivate; we can plant anything in it.”

We have soil good enough to cultivate. Good enough, without buying or adding or changing a thing.

Humans are always a work in progress. Our directions change, and so do our destinations. Sometimes we lose our way. Sometimes we veer off course. Sometimes we forget to drink water. All of that is okay.

The journey — any journey — is profound and beautiful, because it’s part of your story. There is much ground to cover, but no one right way to travel. Whatever you do, and however you hydrate, may the path be of your own choosing. No matter where it leads, I hope you stop every now and then to appreciate how far you’ve come.

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring the Dalí Tarot, by Salvador Dalí, book by Johannes Feibig

There was a time in my life where I felt quite stuck. Friends kept telling me, “You’re getting in your own way.” But the more I heard it, the less sense it made. For such a simple phrase, I couldn’t for the life of me grasp what it meant, or how I was doing it.

Of course I wanted to make progress! Why would I, of all people, hinder that? Meanwhile, I played it small. I talked myself out of opportunities before giving them a chance. I quit things too soon. I didn’t see how my fear impacted my ability to move forward.

One day, a friend asked me, “These other people who have what you want…what have they done differently? How have they managed to do the things you want to do?”

I replied without hesitation, “They actually did them.”

The Eight of Swords is about the ways we wander into a room, shut the door behind us, and then complain that we’re trapped.

The room is dark, it’s small, it’s messy. It has no view. There’s nothing to do in here, nothing to read or watch. We’re lonely. We’re mad. Why isn’t anyone looking for us? Why hasn’t anyone come to let us out?

The fact that we can open the door is lost on us.

It sounds ridiculous, but we do it all the time. We all enter different rooms, shut ourselves behind different doors. We might be stuck behind fear, doubt, imposter syndrome, jealousy… fill in the blank. Sometimes, it might symbolize our dependencies. Other times, it might mean we are giving too much power to outside influences.

Traditional depictions show a person standing along a crude fence of swords. The character wears a blindfold, their arms tied at their sides. But their feet are noticeably free. They are able to walk away from this situation… just as we are free to leave the spaces where we trap ourselves.

The Eight of Swords wants us to spend some quality time getting to know our thought process. It wants us to observe our reactions, recognize patterns, listen to the way we speak to ourselves.

Countless self-help books are based on the idea that you must change your thoughts to change your life. But in order to change your thoughts, you must become aware of them. Only then can we make the shifts to free ourselves.

In the wonderful book Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert shares a piece of advice that led to one such door opening.

“Long ago, when I was in my insecure twenties, I met a clever, independent, creative, and powerful woman in her mid-seventies, who offered me a superb piece of life wisdom. She said: ‘We all spend our twenties and thirties trying so hard to be perfect, because we’re so worried about what people will think of us. Then we get into our forties and fifties, and we finally start to be free, because we decide that we don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of us. But you won’t be completely free until you reach your sixties and seventies, when you finally realize this liberating truth—nobody was ever thinking about you, anyhow.’”

The Eight of Swords wants us to feel that kind of freedom, right now, no matter how many years we’ve been on earth or how many doors we’ve shut behind us.

In order to do this, however, we need to confront our fears. What do we think is outside the door that might keep us from opening it?

We’ve all had times when we stay somewhere a little too long. Times when we remain in a place or job or relationship that isn’t right for us, because it’s more comfortable than the unknown. Or when we fall back into old habits that don’t serve us anymore. Sometimes, there are very legitimate things outside that we don’t want to face. But avoidance only works for so long. No matter what haunts us, confronting a ghost is the only way to release it.

In the days ahead, take note of any times when you may feel stuck or frustrated. Notice if you’re ever tempted to blame others for something within your control. Are there times when you want to take a step, but opt not to? Then examine what’s behind those feelings. That’s all — just observe. No need for judgment, or even action. Change begins with your awareness.

As hard as it can be to accept when you’ve locked yourself in, it’s just as powerful to discover that you (and you alone) can let yourself out. There’s no rush. This is your process. Whenever you’re ready, open the door and take a look outside.

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