What good does wandering do us? What good does an aimless pursuit produce?

Can aimlessness be a practice? Can it be a means to an end?

I have stopped myself from pursuing a given hobby or task because it felt aimless or too low priority for my goals. If there is no aim, if there is no outcome, why pursue it? Why should I pursue a pottery class? I can justify it for the objective of fun, the need for tactile stimulation, an opportunity to make new friends. But for its own sake? That would require love, passion, obsession, persistent interest, or at the very least a curiosity.

A hobby is one thing. What about travel? I have dreamed of traveling for months on end. Given free rein, I'd likely go longer and explore country after country. This journey has been hard to justify given life goals I've set for myself around financial, musical, and relationship goals. I probably veer on the strict or extreme side for this. Juggling two careers leaves a lot less room for hobbies (spoiler alert, I now prioritize non-work hobbies/activities -- I think they're very important for the overall balance and well-being of one's life). The justification may be flimsy but here goes: if I travel for X months, I will be spending money that would be better saved and compounded; I will lose focus and momentum on music writing, practice, and album creation; I will not be integrating myself into a single community where I can make lasting, high-contact friendships and meet potential partners where I want to live.

These justifications serve a purpose -- the fear behind them is a protection mechanism. There is indeed value in momentum that can be fostered and harnessed by staying in a single place. The power of a daily routine and set of habits is what propels projects into completion. Frequent travel comes with a set of logistics that often override much if not all routines -- with hotels, where to eat, etc., there is little room for automating the habit of a daily ritual.

At the same time, progress on goals and travel are not mutually exclusive. Maybe that's another subject altogether though -- I am actually curious about how aimlessness, which may necessitate freedom from or temporary suspension of goals, may serve us. So let's explore aimlessness as a practice. This practice needs some boundaries and rules, so I'll call out one: our definition of aimlessness precludes stagnancy, so a practice of aimlessness cannot be inactive. We cannot sit on the couch and do nothing all day. We must be doing something in our aimless practice.

What would punctuations of aimlessness look like? It could be a day at an art museum, wandering around without a goal, just soaking in the art, exploring the offerings. It could be a day walking around the town or city you live in -- defining a period of 2-6 hours where you just walk the streets and see what storefronts you come across.

What would a period of aimlessness look like? I'm not talking about a 2-week vacation to reset. Let's consider a multi-month period where at least a subset of goals are suspended. When I imagine this, I think of hopping from one country to the next, where who I meet along the way helps steward where I go. There is a bit of magic in meeting people in foreign places, who then invite you into their world. With travel, I don't do very well without a purpose, a project, a goal, or at the very least an intention to orient me -- and yet the flexibility and openness of what may emerge spontaneously from the unknown is often what makes travel so special and memorable.

Aimlessness opens up doors to possibility. Controlled, scoped periods of aimlessness can open up the mind to perspectives outside of its fixed, routinized thought patterns. It allows the unexpected to enter, to surprise and delight us. Pockets of aimlessness may be the rest in the music, the void on the canvas that invites life to harmonize and cocreate with us.