“I want to come with you,” he says.
A cigarette dangles from between his fingers, smoke twirling up into the clear sky. Dusk had turned to a clear summer night, the patio dark against the streetlights of an empty sidewalk. My heart quickens, I push out a short laugh. Oh please, no.
Aloud: oh yeah?
“Yeah,” he says, leaning back against the patio wall.
I hold my breath, calculating how I can tell him nicely that no, he may not come with me. Wrinkles form divots and waves when he smiles, his calloused hand around the cigarette evidence of decades working in construction. He takes a drag, smiling while he looks me over. I fiddle with the condensation on my beer.
“Of course,” he laments, “I’d need a hundred thousand dollars first.”
Instant release. A gentle breeze sweeps through the patio, fluttering the faded signage and slowing my heart rate. I laugh, shaking my head as the rest of the group comes back into focus.
“That’s really not necessary to travel,” I say. “I can assure you that I don’t have 100k in the bank.”
The words linger in the air between us a moment too long, and my synapses fire. What am I trying to convince him of exactly? The facts are true: you really do not need a hundred thousand dollars to travel (although, admittedly — it sure would be nice). But other facts also remained true: I still didn’t want a stranger in my passenger seat.
“Yeah, but…” he says.
And that’s when it begins.
Repeatedly through this trip, I have been told by strangers and friends alike how envious they are about my travels. How they wish they could do what I do or join me on the road. And then comes the caveats, a myriad of reasons why it couldn’t possibly work for them (even though it works for me).
On a good day, one where all the stars have aligned and I’m enjoying every mile of the road, I want to gush and share with them all the reasons why they should drop everything and travel. Travel is an important way to learn about the world and other people — I carry small moments with me from months past every day.
On a bad day, one where everything feels off-kilter and I’m spinning out of control, I want to shout and tell people that they don’t want this. And in fact, why don’t we trade places? I just want to go home. In all the opportunities travel presents, growth is one of them — and that process is often messy and uncomfortable.
I have been fortunate to travel full-time for nine months living this dream. With the current state of COVID-19 response across the country, it looks like I’ll continue working on this project into 2021. It is, undoubtedly, a privilege. I am so grateful to be able to pursue this journey and share it with you.
When I began this trip, I knew I had to act now: I was not in a serious relationship, I didn’t have a house, and I had no kids. I knew I wanted all three of those things (and wanted them all in relatively near future), so I felt like the time for this dream was elapsing. They are three things that often keep people tied down to one place.
I am relatively financially stable, having scrimped and saved to pay for this trip from my own pocket (and with the help of some seriously generous donors who I’m incredibly grateful for!). There are many people who work their asses off and live paycheck to paycheck in order to stay afloat: it’s not as easy as “skipping a coffee a day” for them to travel long-term.
I have a relevant educational background, a university schooling in journalism: writing, interviewing, and editing that prepared me for this daily work. There are many people who did not have access to a high-quality education, nor support in pursuing learning after high school.
I am experienced and flexible, years of learning in the field from mentors and clients who pushed me to expand my skill set and think outside the box. There are many people who do not have experience or skills that are easily transferrable to remote work.
I have support from my friends, family, and you — people who believe in this mission and in my own capabilities. I’ve learned from their examples and taken to heart the message that I am more than capable to follow my own dreams. There are many people who don’t have those kinds of role models in their daily lives.
These privileges (and the many more I have that are not mentioned here) do not mean that every day is perfect. Nor does it mean that the second I stepped on the road, I’ve escaped all of the problems and insecurities that gnawed at me in my prior life.
But they are privileges nevertheless.
In fact, the entire trip is made possible largely in part to them. It would be naive to just brush my hands and call it the mere result of hard work (but yes, this trip involves a LOT of hard work). It is naive to say that everyone should travel no matter what — there are many limiting (and valid) factors that keep people at home, including finances, time, and family, that cannot be discounted.
Being aware of these privileges keeps the trip in perspective, but also grants me more empathy and awareness when talking with people on the road. It reminds me to step out of my own experience and see the world (and a life) through another’s eyes — I learn something new every time.
These days, I am anxious to return to forward motion.
I am eager to resume travel: reminiscing about the lessons I’ve learned and experiences I’ve had on the road while writing the upcoming book and preparing the podcast has reminded me of how lucky I truly am. In the daily rhythm of drive-work-sleep-repeat, it’s easy to lose sight of the big picture; with a bit of distance, I am reminded of why I started out in the first place.
The return to life on the road is unclear right now — and the actual rhythm will look different once I restart once again — but I feel more centered in my ability to travel well and do the work. I know an opportunity like this will remain simply a fantasy for many people, so I want to make sure I don’t waste a second of it.
What a privilege it is to take the path less traveled.
