In front of me is an itinerary. It is for a trip to New York City. It is categorized by day. It is subcategorized by time and event. It is color-coded.

The shocking thing is, it is mine.

The first step to solving a problem, they say, is admitting you have one.

Let me say it: I have become an Itinerarian.

There are two types of travelers in this world, Itinerarians and Mr. Side Trip Guys.

If you know where you are going for your summer vacation, what you are going to do when you get there, and where you are staying for part or all of your duration, you are an Itinerarian. Itinerarians are planners. They scope out weeks in advance what time the museums open and what their exhibits are, what flowers are in bloom in which part of a fabled public garden, what dish is the specialty of an up-and-coming chef at a well-reviewed restaurant. They read.

If, on the other hand, you have a vague sense of perhaps a continent you were thinking you might visit, with a general feeling of the season it might be when you get there, and absolutely no earthly idea where you will stay until you arrive, you are a Mr. Side Trip Guy. Mr. Side Trip Guys are free spirits. They wander where their interests lead them. While in Paris, they know about the Louvre, but they'd just as soon sip wine through the afternoon at a neighborhood cafe. They hang.

I used to be a Mr. Side Trip Guy.

I would sort of just appear in another town, a little like the way the Star Trek guys did, molecularizing onto its surface. I went where whim led me, following my instincts, secure in the notion that serendipity was the best guidebook. I was, as the saying goes, free as the wind blows.

Now, I want to know exactly from which direction that wind is blowing and at what velocity and whether it is better for sailing or for kite flying.