The Art of Wasting Time

“Are you going to write a book about your trip?” asked a German woman wearing a tie-dye shirt. We were at a hostel in remote northern Laos, sipping Beerlao and chatting about travel literature. I was nearing the end of a one-year trip around the world, a journey that had been simultaneously marvellous and exhausting. “Yes, I’d like to.” I envisioned a memoir that would serve as a type of case study for those looking for meaningful travel. “How long will it take to write?” “Dunno — four months?” I had never written a book before. But I figured that with a bit of focus I could swiftly pump out a manuscript. “Really?” She frowned her lips and scrunched her forehead. “I heard that Jack Kerouac wrote On The Road in three weeks.” “Oh.” I looked to the side, feeling mildly deflated. “Well, perhaps I’ll be struck with some type of creative genius.” Our conversation meandered to more mundane subjects: where our next destination would be, which buses we’d ride, the best hostels. But the interact

“Are you going to write a book about your trip?” asked a German woman wearing a tie-dye shirt. We were at a hostel in remote northern Laos, sipping Beerlao and chatting about travel literature. I was nearing the end of a one-year trip around the world, a journey that had been simultaneously marvellous and exhausting. “Yes, I’d like to.” I envisioned a memoir that would serve as a type of case study for those looking for meaningful travel. “How long will it take to write?” “Dunno — four months?” I had never written a book before. But I figured that with a bit of focus I could swiftly pump out a