I like to travel. I love touring, I love playing.

Lita Ford, warrior of sound and pioneer of women in rock, once spoke with vibrant simplicity: “I like to travel. I love touring, I love playing.” These words, though brief, reveal the essence of a life lived in motion, a spirit that finds its joy not in stillness but in the rhythm of roads, the pulse of stages, and the communion between artist and audience. For her, travel is not exile, but liberation; touring is not a burden, but a calling; and playing is not labor, but the outpouring of the soul’s fire.

The ancients, too, understood this hunger for movement and performance. The bards of Greece and the skalds of the North journeyed from village to village, carrying songs that bound people together in memory and myth. Like Ford on her tours, they knew that the art was incomplete until it was shared. A song written but never sung, a story composed but never told, is like a seed left unplanted. The tour, the act of carrying one’s gift across distance, transforms the solitary creation into communal fire.

Her words also testify to the truth that joy can be found in the very act of labor when that labor springs from passion. Many see travel as weariness, as miles of fatigue and distance from home. Many see work as obligation, something endured rather than embraced. Yet for Ford, the road is alive with possibility, and the stage is an altar where music becomes offering. Here lies the wisdom: that when we love our craft, even its difficulties become companions, and what others call sacrifice we call fulfillment.

History provides vivid examples of this spirit. Consider the life of Franz Liszt, the great pianist of the nineteenth century, who toured endlessly across Europe. To him, the road was no weariness but an opportunity to ignite audiences with the power of his music. He traveled not because he had to, but because he loved to give himself to the crowd. In his journeys, as in Ford’s, we see the same truth: the artist thrives in motion, for every stage becomes a new temple, and every performance a renewal of life’s energy.

Yet Ford’s words are not only about musicians. They speak to all who choose to embrace life with enthusiasm rather than reluctance. To “love touring” is to love the journey, however uncertain. To “love playing” is to love the work, however demanding. These words remind us that fulfillment is not found by waiting for ease but by entering wholeheartedly into the struggle, by seeing the road itself as a gift and the act of creation as its own reward.

The lesson for us is clear: seek passion in the journey, not only in the destination. If your work feels heavy, search for the element within it that gives life, and hold fast to it. If your days feel monotonous, change your vision: see the road not as an obstacle but as the place where growth occurs. For in learning to love the travel and the playing—the doing, not only the having—you will discover a joy that no burden can extinguish.

Practically, this means cultivating gratitude for the opportunities to share your talents, however small. Speak your truth even if to a few, give your art even if the stage is modest, and approach your tasks with the fire of one who loves rather than one who endures. For love of the journey transforms the ordinary into extraordinary, and what seems toil becomes song.

Thus, Lita Ford’s words shine with enduring wisdom: life itself is a tour, and each day is a stage. To embrace travel, to delight in the act of sharing, and to play with joy—this is to live not as a burden-bearer, but as a celebrant of existence. And if we too can say, “I love touring, I love playing,” then we will have found the secret to turning every step of the road into a triumph.