The Experiential Tourist Gets Lost

A college professor once called me an "experiential tourist." She did not mean this as a compliment. When she said it, I did not understand what she meant. Two years later I knew. She was right. I was an experiential tourist. And, about the time I figured it out, I was so lost that I couldn't find my way home.

The Professor was Diane Lake, a member of the Speech Communication faculty at Drake University. After seeing me in several classes, Professor Lake considered me a smart, but not too serious student. In her mind, my hard work seemed at odds with my demeanor--a demeanor she likened to a person on "a permanent vacation." I was happy, relaxed and cruising through life. She used to tell me if Up With People ever came to town, she'd lock me in a closet so I wouldn't run off with them and drop out of school.

Of course I was happpy. I attended college on a scholarship. My tution was paid. My rent was covered. Meals came three times a day and were of the "all you can eat" variety. I had no worries or responsibilities. On the contrary, being at a university opened a world of opportunities to me. I was free to do as I pleased--and I did. As long as my grades held up, and they did, I bounced from one experience to the next--flirting with ideas, lifestyles and opportunities. For me, college was like Club Med, but without the beach.

"But isn't that what college is all about?" I said to myself as I pondered Professor Lake's comments. Trying new experiences? Self discovery? Fully exploring the marketplace of ideas? Why did being called an experiential tourist sound so distasteful?

Tourists do not have "authentic" experiences when they travel. Tourist destinations cater to the wants and needs of tourists. The sights, smells and visual vistas may be new and exciting, but they are carefully filtered to appeal to the tastes of guests. Yet, lurking outside the gates of most tourist destinations are abject poverty, desperation, and social ills that most tourists never see. And why are they hidden? Because tourists are looking for pleasant experiences, not an uncomfortable exploration of poverty and hopelessness.

At the end of the day, a tourist is not commited to their vacation destination because a tourist ALWAYS goes home. Unfortunately some tourists believe that their one-week visit to Punta Cana gave them some unique understanding of the native people where they visited. Not true.

An experiential tourist can be equally deluded after their "tours". Maybe I looked like a punk at night so I'd fit in at the clubs. Did that make me a punk, especially since during the day I looked like a college Republican? I wasn't commited to a "punk" lifestyle. I met a few punks in my journeys, but I never was one of them. Did I really understand them? Who was I fooling?

What Professor Lake disdained when she called me an experiential tourist was my attitude, not my actions. She did not care that I was trying new things during my young adult years. She was appalled that I believed my dabblings gave me wisdom--that I somehow had gained insights and understanding into the lives of others who were different than me simply by hanging out with them. Yet, despite all my travels, she believed I would always return to the white bread, Midwest, conservative Christian "home" I knew and loved. Eventually I would get married, have children, and work in a job. I was never really committed to an alternative lifestyle or even looking to change my self identity, I was just on a tour. Was she right about me?

I first experienced depression the week I graduated from college. What was I going to do now? The four-year frolic was over and I was devastated. For an entire year after graduation I lived in a daze. I remained attached to college life through roommates and friends, and I bonded with all sorts of "alternative" personalities I met in clubs and concert halls. Still, I wondered, what was I going to do with my life? My hair was already falling out--I knew my youth wouldn't last forever! Was the experiential tourist going to commit finally to following a life path, or would I just flit from place to place, always looking for something new to amuse myself with.

At the time, I didn't know this, but I was looking for a "why" in my life. Everybody needs a "why"--a reason why you get up in the morning. A reason why you work hard, follow a path, make plans and dream dreams. At the time l was embarasssed about my home base. My evangelical Christian roots seemed so conventional, so boring. I was smarter and cooler than my upbringing, wasn't I?

During my travels, I met musicians, gay people, religious zealots and others whose lives were by definition far more difficult than mine. They made conscious decisions to lead lifestyles that were neither easy nor popular. I admired their courage, but did not follow their leads. For me playing the guitar, sexual expression, and Eastern mysticism did not seem worthy of one's total commitment. But what was worthy? My non-stop touring days were wearing me out. I was ready to go home.

But where was home and how would I get there?

Next posting: "The Experiential Tourist Goes Home"