A lot of people told me that I was running from myself when the travel bug first bit. They filled my mind with doubt. It’s just a phase. You’ll settle down eventually. It’ll take one brush with danger to calm you down. You’ll get it out of your system. At first, I believed these doubts. People who barely knew me had lists of reasons why traveling as a solo female was a bad idea. Many people asked me if I was going to carry a gun during my trips, as if I needed to look at strangers with a wary eye. Their fears trickled into my mind. And their thoughts clouded my judgement like a fogged up glass.
But my Dad’s reflections were the hardest ones to ignore. He had the “travel bug” once too. He referred to it as if it were an illness that your body would overcome one day. During his late teens and early twenties, he hitch-hiked 50,000 miles around the country, according to his accounts. He traveled from Michigan to California and back several times. He got trapped in the desert on one occasion, wondering if he was going to die of heat exhaustion. Maybe it was because of his experience that he told me I shouldn’t hitch-hike. He told me that hitch-hiking was a lot different when he did it. It wouldn’t be safe for me to do it now.
Dad’s Travel Bug
Later, during his Tom Sawyer chapter, Dad traveled to Alaska with his best friend. He worked in a logging camp where someone was crushed to death during the first week on the job. It wasn’t long before my Dad started looking for his next adventure. On the coast of Alaska, he lied to the captain of a fishing boat, telling him that he had lots of sailing experience. After the captain agreed to hire him, they cast-off. They were in the middle of the Ocean when the captain realized he’d been fooled.
My Dad didn’t know the first thing about sailing, and now he was stuck on a ship in the Ocean. After the captain dumped my Dad onto the coast, shorting him on his wages, my Dad knew he wanted to be a sailor. He returned to Michigan and enrolled in the Maritime Academy.
A decade of Dad’s life was spent on freighters. He spent 6-months on a ship and then hitch-hiked around Europe, spending everything he’d saved.
Dad Gets Sick
Dad’s life took a sharp turn when he got sick. He landed in the hospital, teetering on the brink of death. He had Ulcerative Colitis and he was shitting blood. The disease made his intestines feel like they were on fire. He didn’t think he was going to make it, and he almost didn’t. He went under the surgical blade, allowing a doctor to fillet his insides.
Spoiler alert: Dad lived and went on to have 6 kids.
But his brush with death “straightened” him out. He slowed down alot after that, hopping on fewer ships and enrolling in classes near home. He packed a whole lot of life into a decade of travels. But after he stared death in the face, he was ready to live on the conservative side of life. He met my Mom. They fell in love when my Mom helped him with his music theory homework. And Dad started coming up with reasons to stay in the same place for more than a few months.
Dad’s Travel Advice
So, when Dad chimed in, telling me that I’d get “traveling out of my system,” it was hard to ignore him. Other people had never traveled at all, and I found it easier to set their opinions to the side. Why would I listen to a bunch of naysayers who had never left the comfort of their homes? Taking advice from people who had never lived a life like mine seemed counter-intuitive. But Dad’s experience told him that I’d get tired, eventually.
One day, I might meet a nice man and decide to settle down. That’s how he saw it. And that idea always bothered me. He painted this picture in which I could be tamed. If only I loved a man enough, maybe I would find a way to stay in the same place. Maybe the desire to build a life with someone would grow larger than my desire to explore the planet. Sure, it was possible. Maybe I would follow my Dad’s footsteps. Maybe I’d learn to see the beauty in waking up in the same bed day after day. But I always resisted that idea. I wasn’t someone who wanted to be tamed.
A Moment of Clarity
A moment of clarity came to me during a drive I took with my Dad. A few years ago, we stood on a pier together, looking into the depths of the crashing waves. I saw a possession in his eyes when he looked into the water. It looked like desire. He built a life for himself in Michigan. And he loved that life. But there was this insatiable part of him that would never fully deteriorate. He could and would try to convince me that it was just a matter of time before I “got the travel bug out of my system.” But I knew he was lying. Because the urge never entirely disappeared for him, either.
Maybe he learned to quiet the urge because my Mom wasn’t much of a traveler. She was a self-proclaimed “home-body”. She could always find hundreds of ways to stay perfectly content in the same place. But when I saw the reflection of the waves in his eyes, I knew he’d never lost the urge to sail.
Listening to My Guts
Years after I’d removed myself from the grip of naysayers, I realized something. The thoughts of theirs that spilled out onto my lap were the very thoughts that prevented them from taking a leap of faith. The naysayers spoke to themselves in the same way that they spoke to me, ensuring their future captivity.
I felt fortunate to be able to set aside my doubts just long enough to try. And in my Dad’s case, he predicted that I’d slow down and stop traveling because he had done those things. He could be right. One day, I might decide to stay in the same place for more than a few months. I might get the travel bug out of my system. I might grow comfortable reading other people’s stories while rocking in my chair. But that day isn’t today.
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