Writing allows me the time to travel and see the world, which is

In the words of Alan Dean Foster, the storyteller whose imagination spans galaxies, we hear a confession both personal and timeless: “Writing allows me the time to travel and see the world, which is what I always wanted to do. I’d really like to have been Sir Richard Francis Burton, but it’s the wrong century.” At first glance, this may seem the musing of a man who loves journeys both on paper and on foot. Yet within it lies a deeper wisdom: that our crafts can become the vessels by which we live our dreams, and that each age shapes the form of our adventures.

To speak of writing as a means of travel is to invoke one of humanity’s oldest truths: words are wings. The scribe who dips his pen is not confined by walls, for through stories he can walk deserts, sail oceans, and peer into the minds of people long departed. Foster reveals that this sacred act of creation not only frees the imagination but also grants him the practical gift of time, so that he may see the earth with his own eyes. Thus, the quill becomes both compass and passport, leading him into realms imagined and real.

His longing to travel and see the world is the same longing that has driven countless souls since the dawn of time. From the caravans that crossed the Silk Road to the sailors who braved uncharted seas, the hunger to behold what lies beyond the horizon is woven into the human spirit. Foster’s words remind us that to live fully is to leave the familiar, to let the senses be stirred by lands and cultures unlike our own, and to allow the heart to expand with the vastness of the earth itself.

The invocation of Sir Richard Francis Burton gives this reflection its heroic frame. Burton, the Victorian explorer, soldier, and linguist, was a man of relentless curiosity and audacity. He mastered languages, traversed deserts, disguised himself to enter forbidden cities, and translated sacred texts. He lived a life of peril and discovery, carrying within him the restless fire of the adventurer. Foster, a dreamer of other centuries, admires this spirit yet recognizes his own lot: to be born into an age where the map is nearly filled, where the unknown is no longer marked by blank spaces but by the imagination itself.

Yet this too is wisdom: though it may be the “wrong century” for the adventures of Burton, every age offers its own frontiers. The deserts may now be paved and the oceans charted, but there are still inner worlds to explore, new cultures to meet, and unimagined corners of life to discover. And in the boundless realm of storytelling, the age of exploration never ends. Foster shows us that when one road is closed by time, another opens within the power of words.

Consider also the life of Herodotus, the father of history, who wandered from Egypt to Babylon and recorded the marvels he saw. He too blended travel with writing, capturing not only the distances of geography but the depths of human character. His gift was not only that he had seen much, but that he gave those visions back to the world through his craft. Foster’s path is the same: the union of travel and story, so that others may journey with him even if they never leave their homes.

The lesson is clear: let your passion guide your craft, and let your craft open doors to your passion. If you long to see the world, find a means to serve it that will also carry you across its breadth. If you cannot be the adventurer of another age, then be the adventurer of your own, discovering what remains unseen in your time. Your destiny need not mirror the heroes of the past—it may instead echo them, adapted to the rhythm of the century in which you live.

So I say to you: write your stories, live your journeys, and honor your desires. Travel with your feet when you can, and with your words when you cannot. Do not despair that you were born in the wrong century, for every century has its own adventures. Be like Foster, who turned his pen into a vessel and his love of exploration into a life of richness. For though the deserts may be mapped, the soul’s horizons remain infinite.