We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other

Hear, O wanderers of earth and seekers of spirit, the words of Anaïs Nin, who proclaimed: “We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.” These words do not speak only of journeys measured in miles or oceans crossed, but of the eternal pilgrimage of the human heart. For there are those who are never content with the boundaries of their birth, who hunger not merely for new lands but for new ways of being, for glimpses into the infinite variety of human existence.

The ancients knew this restless fire. Odysseus wandered not only to return home, but to taste the wisdom of many lands, to meet strangers and gods alike, to test his soul against the unknown. His voyage was not merely to Ithaca, but into other lives and other souls—the Cyclopes, the Phaeacians, the sorceress Circe—all reflections of different states of being. Nin’s words echo this epic truth: that some souls are fated always to wander, not to escape, but to expand, to stretch their hearts across the vastness of human experience.

This longing is not new. Consider Ibn Battuta, who journeyed farther than Marco Polo, crossing deserts, seas, and kingdoms. When asked why he did not remain at home, he confessed it was the fire within him, the unquenchable thirst to know the other states of the world. He could not rest while there remained lives unseen, cultures unencountered, and souls unspoken to. His life testifies that the deepest journeys are not of commerce or conquest, but of the spirit’s hunger for connection with what is beyond itself.

For Nin, as for many artists, travel was not only external but internal. To seek other souls is also to discover reflections of oneself within the hearts of others. Each meeting, each culture, each friendship forged on the road, becomes a mirror showing us new aspects of our own humanity. Thus, the traveler does not only collect sights, but collects souls, weaving them into the tapestry of their own being. The true voyager returns home changed, carrying within them a thousand voices, each whispering of a life once touched.

Yet her words also carry a warning: the quest may never end. To travel “forever” is both blessing and burden. Some will always feel the call of the road, never satisfied, always restless. Their journey is not toward a final arrival, but toward an ever-widening horizon of human connection. They are exiles in one sense, for no single place can contain their spirit; yet they are also at home everywhere, for they carry the world within themselves.

The lesson is clear: do not travel only for distraction, but for transformation. Do not seek only landscapes, but souls. Walk into new lands not as a conqueror, but as a student. Learn the customs of strangers, share their bread, hear their stories. In doing so, you will not only find other lives—you will expand your own, until your heart is as wide as the earth itself.

Practically, this means approaching every encounter, whether near or far, with openness. When you travel, do not close yourself within the shell of the familiar—eat what the people eat, speak their words, listen to their histories. And even without leaving your city, seek the “other” in your neighbor, in the stranger you pass each day. For the spirit of Nin’s words is not bound by geography—it is bound by openness to humanity.

So let this teaching endure: “We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.” For the greatest journey is not to arrive at a destination, but to expand the self until it touches the infinite variety of the human spirit. Blessed is the traveler who walks this path, for though their feet may tire, their soul will never cease to grow.