It ebbs, it flows, it comes and goes, but it is always there, the desire to see the world; to drink it up in the way that a child two-handedly drinks a condensation-dripping cold glass of lemonade in the heart of summer.
It is there, always there.
The crazy madness to soak up every last bit of the life around me and call it mine, all mine. Nothing gets my heart pumping, my blood racing, my energy jumping, then the thought of discovering the magic and mysteriousness of the earth that we all walk on, the earth that we all call home.
It never leaves, this feeling. The flame of wanting to travel, explore, learn, is always burning. And it burns in such a way that I am always aware that it is there, blazing and burning with no sign of ever extinguishing. There are so many people to meet, so many foods to try, so many roads to walk down, so many stories to tell, and so many maps to read, that it is all I want to do. It was all I was ever meant to do.
Nothing will ever get in the way of that, nothing ever can. Because above anything else, traveling was my first love, it was the first thing in life that showed me who I really was, and who I really wanted to become. No, it didn’t rub my feet at night when I was tired and worn out, and no, it didn’t bring me ice cream when I was sad, but it did show me something that nothing else did; that this world is much bigger than the world we create within and around ourselves. We only know what we know, and until we are exposed to something that shows us otherwise, we never quite know how good or bad we have it until we see the other side. At this very second, as you read these words, life is being experienced in so many different ways, so why not try and experience life from as many sides as we can?
So, where have I been all these months? Where have I vanished off to? Contrary to what you are all thinking (that I was hiding away at a yoga retreat in India, right?), I have actually accidentally pushed my love of writing on the back burner, pushed it back and behind because I came up with excuses as to not having enough time to write, and not considering it a priority. I somewhat recently started a new career which I properly adore, so the idea of writing never seemed appealing, simply because I wanted to spend my time perfecting my job. I have been blessed with a magnificent opportunity in the Cleveland area to really have my voice heard, to really make a difference, and no distraction was going to pull me away from that. Not even writing.
And why should I write if I wasn’t traveling, or if I didn’t have a trip coming up in the future? Where would I possibly muster up the passion and the love I have for traveling if there was no exciting trips planned on the horizon? Why should I even bother?
Because I love it. Because it makes my eyes light up when I talk about like a child on Christmas day that unwraps a puppy beneath the Christmas tree. Because nothing excites me more than thinking about the places I will go. Because nothing makes me feel more alive. And need I require any more explanation than that? If it makes me happy, than that is reason enough to keep doing it. And it makes me happy, excited, passionate, behind my wildest beliefs. Never again will my love for writing, traveling, exploring be pushed on the back burner, no matter what the circumstances may be.
I keep thinking about my trip two years ago to London…to my adventure this past summer to Spain and Italy…to trips with my mom to Dublin, and the first thing that hits me when I think about those magnificent trips was the way they made me feel. The way they made me feel like I was on top of the world…the way I distinctly remembering that I wanted to live in those moments forever. It was a happiness that I never wanted to end, and I wished with all my might for a replay button to be found. While as everything in life ends, those moments were no exception, but rather than being simply memories, those memories were also catalysts, catalysts that pushed me to plan and pursue my next trip, my next adventure.
The desire, the passion, the longing, the want to travel, continues to be so real to me. Unlike most others, traveling only fuels the fire, as the moment I get step out of the airport, I begin to plan my next adventure. I fall asleep with dreams of hiking through India, trekking the Great Wall of China in China, scuba diving in Australia, volunteering in Africa, and sun bathing in Indonesia. I wake up with memories of working in Spain, dancing in Barcelona, eating tapas in Grenade, and drinking vino in Italy.
My madness of wanting to travel is real. Very, very real. But without madness, there is no story. And with no story, there is no life.
“All glory comes from Daring to being”
–Eugene F. Ware