Travel Without an Audience

The moment I realized I was documenting my travels instead of living them.

I wish the person next to me would open their window-shade. I need the natural light to photograph my TV dinner masquerading as a Michelin starred meal in “first class.” A rare airline loyalty program upgrade got me this seat and I have to document it and post it ASAP. Before sharing that I still need to share my “golden-hour” photos from the coast of Maine, that harsh 5am wake-up call has to be good for something. That’s when I realized I wasn’t traveling, I was documenting.

When I started my career as a dancer, auditions were held in person, or by mailing in a VHS tape accompanied by a paper resume and head-shot. Websites eventually came into the picture. Now, booking a Broadway show is often dependent on your social media presence. So, by natural extension, I started to document on social media everything—it proved my existence. My new boyfriend, my wedding, every job I booked and every trip I took.

2020 shut most of that down. No more travels to glamorize, and the Brooklyn kitchen dance clips ran out of steam fast. Look at me, I’m still dancing! See? It was exhausting.

Saying “screw it” to social media felt liberating until a frequent collaborator responded to my work query with: “I didn’t realize you were still dancing; I didn’t see anything on Instagram.”

With everyone around me sharing every glorious, sun-drenched travel moment in real time, I felt the need to do the same. After stressing over getting the right angle or ordering the correct dish, I decided to return to how I traveled before I had a smartphone—with inquisitiveness, wonder and feet firmly grounded.

I realized I traveled differently when I had an audience and I had to confront that.

Travel became a private joy. I began to relish sharing my experiences with my count-on-one-hand audience of my partner and close family. No one knew where I was—and I loved it.

You may pause and say: “Hypocrite! You are sharing this on Substack.”

I’m aware of the irony.

Scrawling my way through journal after journal wasn’t enough to satisfy the creative fire I had smoldering in me—especially as my dance career started to transition from stage to studio. I thought I stopped documenting, but I really stopped performing.

I stumbled onto Substack and found a platform where no-one knew me (my skilled detective Mom has been the only one so far to find out— “Hi, Mom!”) and I had nothing to prove. No preconceived notions. I could share thoughtfully, whenever I wanted, to an audience of strangers. Slowly I brought back Instagram, another secret account, to satisfy the very-amateur photographer in myself.

Most of my friends and colleagues still have no idea where I’m flying off to—and I’m happy with that. Did I get the upgrade? Who cares. Did I get the iconic shot? Maybe, but there’s a chance I didn’t realize it was an iconic shot in the first place.

As life and our intertwined connection with technology hurtles along at a breakneck pace, it helps to take a pause before being sucked into the whirlpool and ask: Why do we travel? And who are we traveling for?

I travel best when no one knows where I am.

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If we haven’t met yet, I’m Richard Philion. I traveled the world during my dance career and continue to explore with the same passion. If you love adventures to both new and familiar places, I’d love to connect and share our mutual love for travel. Through the Travelling Troubadour, I hope to inspire and inform with stories, tips, and itineraries.

Feel free to message me directly—I’d love to meet you.