There may be more evidence implying humans are meant to migrate than suggesting people should "settle down and act right." There is our ancient history of summer hunting grounds and winter camps. There is our modern tendency to hit the highway or flock to the beach for spring break or summer vacation. Every time we gleefully blurt out "Road trip!" is a primal confession that the human heart relishes a journey as much as a destination.
Astute observers of nature perceive that the Creator likes the creatures shaking their asses across the terrestrial dance floor. Canadian geese instinctively configure for aerodynamics then navigate by the stars. Monarch butterflies position solar-panel wings for recharging then glide from Maine to Mexico. Central American turtles find directions at sea using electromagnetic fields in ways that inspired Olmecs to invent the compass. And South American boys named Che instinctively drop out of med school to ride motorcycles across the continent with no measurable survival benefit yet inspiring hope and T-shirts to sustain future generations of the species.
The philosopher Schopenhauer declared that mankind is doomed to forever vacillate between stress and boredom. A simpler, happier creature might consider this instinct more a blessing than a curse. Thus, the hobbit Bilbo Baggins kicks off an Oscar-nominated road trip by shooting out of a cozy, orderly, stuffy hobbit-hole like the metallic ball sharing his initials. He shouts, "I'm going on an adventure!" which is, after all, the only point.
Why else would folks tolerate three more money-grubbing reconfigurations of hobbits, elves, dwarves, trolls, orcs, wizards, rings and swords? Just one reason: it's fun to go on an adventure. (At least, for most of the quest/film.) Likewise, as scientists strap digital bracelets on wildebeests to track how they migrate in ever-shifting clusters to minimize predictability and avoid predation, this magazine digitally monitors the instinctual migrations of the wild beastly herd known as humanity.
In addition, we promote the official record of such migrations: my books. This isn't simply to fund my geographical and literary ramblings, but that we might learn from these epic journeys to ensure the survival of our species. Buy my books; save the humans. It's not that complicated, people. Then, we can go on relishing endless, mindless (hopefully-awardless) adventures like The Hobbit. If you think you can't enjoy the company of such short, hairy, beer-swilling folk, I know some Mexican girls you really should meet. Ay mamacita! Enough said.