What Travel Means To Me: A Short Essay About Love
The first time I left my hometown, was to go live in Alaska with my older sister. I’d gotten in some trouble at school, and needed a correction. My brother in law was a Ranger in the Army, and the hope was that he would whip me into shape.
A Florida kid, I stepped off the plane after traveling alone (this was pre 9/11) on a plane for 8 hours, into a world of snow, something I’d never seen before. I instinctively grabbed some, balled it up, and began pelting my older sister and brother in law with snow balls. Something in me had permanently snapped. I came to understand there was a world outside of the one I knew, and it was VAST, wild, and held endless promise.
In that moment of snowball hurling glee, I, at the tender age of eleven, got the travel sickness that we all have.
As you know, there is no cure. So, I bid the rest of my time, until I was 18… when I promptly bought a backpack a one-way plane ticket, and I never looked back.
Through the years, I have made lifelong friends, nursed deep wounds, learned to understand people from all walks of life, and gained perspective I could have never achieved by staying home. I even met my husband, an Aussie, during an international long distance love story.
Everything I have been given, I have been given by way of travel.
Never, ever stop exploring