On monotony

Seven of us opted to fly to Cusco.

Remote Year organized a 14-hour bus ride from La Paz for us. 14 hours? On a bus? How much are flights again?

So we ate the extra $160 cost, took a one-hour flight, and spent the day exploring while everyone else was fighting the urge to stretch their legs.

Worth it. 10/10 would spend extra to fly again.

I noticed something about myself during that quick hop over the Andes.

My nose is usually glued to the window during a flight, watching the landscape and allowing the surreal feeling of adventure to sink in. I love watching the world below me. Some of my favorite and most distinct travel memories are from the window seat.

I remember flying over the Grand Canyon for the first time, eating the tapas snackbox on United. I remember pointing out the Empire State building to a seven-year-old-girl as we flew into Newark and watching the shy grin spread over her face. I remember the tears of relief as we descended into Raleigh, the lush trees carpeted below, after a terrifyingly turbulent flight.

Usually, I allow myself to indulge in the travel high of flight. Not this time. This time, I was distracted by my own jaded emotions.

Surreal travel has started to feel mundane. Once-in-a-lifetime opportunities are now just everyday life. That's not an exaggeration - I'm taking "bucket list" trips every single weekend.

Last month I went to the Bolivian salt flats. In March, I watched the opera in Buenos Aires. I'm going to Machu Picchu next week, visiting Dublin with Amanda next month, living in London and Prague and Split.

Fancy AF.

Fancy AF.

It all sounds so exciting.

But really? It just feels like normal, everyday life. I'm not sure the human brain can handle getting excited so frequently. It craves a steadier pace, and will force a sense of normal on the most abnormal of lives.

I'm learning to live in the developed world without my American privileges, but I'm becoming a different sort of spoiled. I may have a new appreciation for hot showers, but I no longer find wonder in the window seat.

That makes me sad.

Frequent travelers, those who have nomadded (totally a word roll with it) longer than I have - how do you regain your childlike wonder?

Taylor Coil is traveling the world with Remote Year, living in 12 countries in 12 months, while working as a marketing manager. Follow along to read more philosophies on work, stories from the road, and general (mis)adventures. Sign up for the weekly email or read more from the blog.