Where Is My Mind? The Travel-Induced Art of Existential Discombobulation

Travel. It’s supposed to broaden the mind, expand horizons, and fill you with a sense of awe and discovery. But let’s be honest: sometimes it just leaves you asking, What the hell am I doing here? Not because you took a wrong turn and ended up in a questionable part of Bangkok, but because travel has a sneaky way of poking at the very fabric of your identity.

2/12/20253 min read

The Pixies nailed it with their iconic song Where Is My Mind?—a tune inspired by lead singer Black Francis’s snorkeling adventure in the Caribbean, where he found himself being stalked by a persistent fish. A normal person might have laughed it off, but Francis, like any good artist, turned the encounter into a surreal meditation on existence. And isn’t that what travel does? You set out to find new places, and instead, you end up questioning everything, including whether a fish might be smarter than you.

Travel: The Ultimate Existential Whiplash

Here’s the thing about travel: it yanks you out of your comfort zone and drops you into an entirely different rhythm. One moment, you’re at home, comfortably navigating life’s predictable monotony; the next, you’re trying to figure out why your hotel shower has 17 knobs, none of which seem to produce hot water.

This is the kind of disorientation that goes beyond mere logistics. It’s the existential variety. You start wondering: Why don’t I know how to say "toilet" in German? Should I have spent my youth learning practical skills instead of binge-watching TV? What even is a bidet, and am I using it wrong?

These are the questions that travel forces upon you—not because you’re unprepared, but because being thrown into unfamiliarity exposes just how fragile your sense of self really is.

The Caribbean Fish and the Cosmic Joke

Let’s revisit Black Francis and his aquatic tormentor. There he was, floating in turquoise waters, thinking he’d achieved paradise, when suddenly—bam! A fish appears, bumping into him repeatedly. To a reasonable person, this would be a minor annoyance. But to Francis, it was a sign: nature was out to get him, or worse, trying to send him a message.

This is what travel does to all of us. You’re not just snorkeling; you’re grappling with your place in the universe. You’re not just hiking a mountain; you’re wondering if the mountain is laughing at your pitifully short legs. Travel is full of these cosmic jokes—moments when you realize you’re not the main character in the story of the world. You’re just a random extra trying to find Wi-Fi.

The Smackdown of Perspective

Nothing delivers a sharper smack of perspective than being a stranger in a strange land. One minute, you’re confidently ordering a latte back home, and the next, you’re in a Parisian café, accidentally asking for "le large milk bucket." The waiter arches an eyebrow so high it disappears into his hairline, and suddenly, your sense of cool sophistication crumbles.

This kind of ego-check is good for you. Travel humbles you in the best way possible. It reminds you that the world doesn’t revolve around you—or your inability to understand the difference between "bon" and "bien."

And that’s the point. You’re not supposed to have all the answers. The beauty of travel lies in embracing the absurdity of not knowing what’s going on, where you’re going, or why you thought a 17-hour layover in Doha was a good idea.

When the Mind Goes Missing

Of course, the ultimate travel companion—or saboteur—is your own mind. It’s the thing that whispers, Shouldn’t you be doing something more meaningful? when you’re enjoying a piña colada on a beach. It’s the voice that reminds you of deadlines, forgotten birthdays, and that time you embarrassed yourself in front of your high school crush.

Travel intensifies this inner monologue because it strips away the distractions of daily life. Suddenly, it’s just you, your thoughts, and a persistent feeling that maybe the fish was right to question your existence.

The Punchline of Getting Lost

But here’s the secret: the smarrimento—the existential disorientation—is the point. You’re supposed to feel untethered. You’re supposed to wonder if you’re doing life right. Travel isn’t about finding yourself; it’s about realizing that maybe there’s nothing definitive to find.

So, the next time you feel a little lost while exploring a new place, don’t panic. Instead, lean into it. Talk to the fish. Laugh at yourself when you can’t figure out how to open a train door in Switzerland. Smile at the absurdity of existence and the fact that somewhere, right now, someone else is probably also wondering if their life choices were a mistake.

Because in the end, your mind might not always be where you left it. But that’s okay—sometimes, it’s better off snorkeling in the Caribbean, trying to decode the wisdom of a fish.