When I got the chance to visit a string of European cities at 20, I convinced myself that the best way to make the most of this privilege and opportunity was to get a memento from each and every place.
This seemed simple and even a little romantic at first, but ultimately it started stressing me out. My flight out of Berlin was in a few hours but I hadn’t found my “thing.” (I was too busy eating all of the schnitzel.) Did I give up having the complete collection of my dreams? Did I just grab something random from the airport?
The compulsion to retain something from our travels makes sense; we learn and grow from travel and we want that to carry over into our normal life. But what we really want is a memory. And objects can jog our memories, but only if they are connected to an experience or a place in a visceral way.
The shirt I impulse bought in Barcelona because “I needed to get something from Barcelona” ended up in the donation pile. I picked it up hoping to hold on to that expansive feeling of time and space so notable in those Spanish afternoons on the roof garden of my hostel. I mainly felt irritated because the sleeves were itchy.
On the other hand, the perfectly smooth stone I found combing the beach in Greece has come with me through three moves. Holding it reminds me of meeting an elderly couple who walk into the sea each morning in their water shoes and swim caps, hand in hand.
I’m willing to bet your novelty shot glass from the kitschy souvenir shop in the touristy part of town doesn’t call to mind how you felt when you first ordered a coffee in the local language, or paid in unfamiliar bills, or even just left your phone behind in the hotel room for a gloriously relaxing afternoon. Maybe there’s no object to hold that memory for you, or maybe it’s one you have to find rather than shop for.
In his book The Art of Travel, Alain de Botton makes a poignant suggestion about our need to “possess” the beauty and expansiveness we experience when we travel.
He suggests that we try to create art about our experience. Sketch a drawing, compose a small poem, create a snippet of melody. The act of synthesizing your travels and creating something of our own both deepens our memories and gives us something to do other than shop, purchase, consume.
So on your next vacation, just say souve-no. (I know, I know, I’m sorry.) And when you return home, enjoy clutter-free memories.