Profound Pondering: The Journey of Destination

 

 

What kind of person are you? Do you care about the destination? Or the journey?

 

“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” ― Ernest Hemingway

 

I don’t know about you, but I’m a destination kind of person. If you were to bust through the wall and ask me: Hey! Do you want to go somewhere?—the first question I would ask would be something like this: where are we going?

I mean, I get it. I understand why people glorify the journey. The unpredictable nature of traveling guarantees worthy memories. But is every experience tailored made for everyone?

Wait…I have a swell idea. Do you feel like going to Hell? Too bad, you sinner, you! Pack your bags! Your flight leaves this very moment.

Yes. Hell. Fire, brimstone and all that other scary bullshit. Pretty serious stuff. Souls are highly combustible, the slightest ember ignites them into an eternal fireball of sorrow. Hey, hey! Cheer up! Don’t be upset! This journey will take about a million years, so you have plenty of time to accept your fiery fate.

It’s all about the journey, remember? Who cares if it happens to be Hell…right?

This hypothetical journey is full of all sorts of roadside attractions. You can pull over anywhere you choose. Would you like to visit Big Mouth Grill & Eatery? How ’bout staying at Eternal Sunset Casino? Oh! Gambling is not your thing? Visit Wild Blue Yonder Amusement Park—the choices are endless. But you’re still going to Hell. You can’t talk your way out of this one, pal.

You know what? Take your sweet ass time. Feel free to tiptoe the whole journey. Take as many breaks as you want. Take a nap—do whatever it takes to halt your inevitable combustion…it’s going to happen.

I hope you had fun!

Welcome to Hell! Enjoy your burn. Forever. The journey was well worth the destination, right? Hahaha, right?

We‘ve all been to regrettable places, our patience beaten and completely sapped, warping us into some kind of emotionless mummy.

A shit movie.

A poor dining experience.

A nonsense vacation.

Come on, I know, deep down inside, there were a few times the journey mugged you and pocketed your well deserved memorable experience…

…Leaving you on the street corner: no money, no phone, no love—a used prostitute of life—only lookin‘ for a good time.

I don’t think every journey is tailored made for everyone’s enjoyment. You can argue that not every journey needs to be for enjoyment, in which, I would agree! A miserable experience is still an experience.

Experience builds character, so, in some fucked up way, going to Hell can be more virtuous than sitting on your ass…watching vampires fornicate. Think about it.

I’ll probably always be a destination minded kind of person. I can’t help it. How many experiences have I stifled? How many woes have I circumvented? One thing is certain: experience can be measured while possible suffering can only be hypothesized.

 

**I’m not religious. Why would you think that?**