Why I Travel: The Origin Story

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Disclaimer: This is a personal story. The first in what I hope to be a series. If you know the people involved in this, I ask that you keep them anonymous. This post is about me and my motivations for traveling, not them.

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I have been a solo traveler for many years now. I took my first solo trip right after graduating from university, and I have since been all over the world. Unlike most people I meet on the road, I didn't start traveling as a gap year, because I have lots of paid holiday, or because I wanted to experience a culture. My travel story started much more devastatingly. However, as I write this final paragraph in my beachside hostel in Morocco, I am extremely glad I started, regardless of the reason, as it has done so much to shape who I am today.

Buddy trip to Hawaii before my first trip to Africa

The Heartbreak Behind It All

I will be the first to admit the truth behind why I started traveling. I was heartbroken. I was on a trip to Charleston, South Carolina, when I changed my plans to fly back to Texas to see my girlfriend at the time. I flew literally halfway across the United States for what would be one of the best weekends of my life. Only it didn't end with a tear-filled goodbye. It ended with a breakup. This breakup destroyed me, shattered me to my very core. Did long-lasting damage that a decade of being single, multiple attempts at therapy, and even some prescription medication had a hard time mending.

It was in the midst of this heartbreak that I discovered the world of travel blogging. I read Chris Guillebeau's Art of Non-Conformity blog, where he discussed his journey to every country in the world and how he used credit card points to pay for his travels. I discovered Bryce Conway, now the CEO of 10x Travel, on the TedX stage discussing how he manages to travel the world for cheap. And I discovered the Vagabrothers and Hey Nadine! on YouTube. They were full-time travel vloggers who shared their experiences and tips with the world through awesome videos. It was around this time when I also got into reading real-life adventure stories, from a man who walked the Amazon Rainforest to the ill-fated final exploration of Sir Percy Fawcett. This idea of a life of adventure called out to me in the midst of all the terrible times I was having.

Getting Started (And Running Away)

I started by traveling the United States. I had a three- or four-day weekend every month or so, and I spent these in another city as often as I could. I would fly out late on a Thursday night or sleep on the airport floor overnight and fly out obscenely early on a Friday, and I would return as close to midnight on Monday night as possible (I had to be within 250 miles of my military duty station by midnight). I would show up at physical training in the morning more exhausted than when I had left, because I had only gotten two or three hours of sleep after getting back from my latest adventure. I had a tight budget, like REALLY TIGHT, but I was confident I could tighten down enough to keep up these shenanigans for a long while. I visited friends in Los Angeles, Seattle, Indianapolis, and Washington, D.C. to save money, and I visited St. Croix during their centennial celebrations where they gave out hundreds of dollars in tourism vouchers.

My first solo trip every was to New York City

Behind it all, though, was that heartbreak. I'm not going to go into details, but I wanted to be as far away from my duty station and any potential for unintentional contact as possible. The four corners of the United States seemed the best way to get out of my own head, the confines of my apartment, and avoid any triggering events. I knew I couldn't run forever, but I could sure as Hell try! (Pro tip: this doesn't work; your problems will literally catch up to you. Ask me how I know.)

Expanding Horizons: My First Time in Europe and Africa

I did not take a truly international trip during my first year and a half of traveling. I didn't have the time, money, experience, or, being honest, the courage to go abroad. At the time, it seemed like traveling abroad required thousands of dollars, weeks of paid holiday, and knowledge of compicated visa schemes. How wrong I was.

I realised how wrong I was when the military sent me to Europe and Africa for work. Well, Africa for work. Europe was just a three-day stopover. In Paris. I breezed through security. The ticket had a typo on it (it put my middle initial right against my first name), but when I expressed concern to the gate agent on the other side, he simply said, "You made it through security. You're in the promised land!" Getting through the border checkpoing in Paris was a breeze. I didn't even have to answer "business or pleasure?" Next thing I knew, I was standing under the Eiffel Tower out front of the Ecole Militaire dumbfounded that 1) I was in Paris and 2) it was so easy to get there. The world of international travel opened itself up to me, and there was no way I was going to turn my back on it now. I did it all in Paris. I saw all the sites, ate at cafes where no one spoke English, got lost trying to find Notre Dame, and immersed myself in as many museums as possible. I did more in two and a half days than many people would do in a week. As Harry Chapin would famously say, "I spent a week there one afternoon."

And then there was Africa. "The Continent," as I would learn people call it. Streaking past the farmers' fields as we landed at the airport, I wondered where the terminal was. Well, it was at the other end, and it was small. I didn't see it until I walked through the door of the plane. Our driver took us past serpentines, through security checkpoints, and to a hotel guarded by the National Guard. In between work requirements, I rode camels through the city, saw Hippos in the river (from a distance, of course), and met a man who I'm fairly certain could have gotten us an introduction to Boko Haram if we paid him enough. Out in the Sahara, I saw an endless expanse of untamed landscape where people have both sought refuge and died trying to escape for all of recorded human history. I could not believe I was there. The Sahara, the Continent, are things you only see in movies, fantasy novels, and history books, not something you see with your own eyes and experience with your own heart.

Taking a canoe to see the hippos on my first trip to Africa was an experience I will never forget

After this week abroad, I expanded my travel to international locations. I went back to Europe as soon as I could, vacationed in the Caribbean whenver I got too cold, and even took full advantage of my work trips to various deserts. The world had opened itself up to me, and I was not going to turn my back on it.

Thirty Started Pushing Back

"When I started pushing thirty, it started pushing back. Well, how was I to know 'til now you'd be such a hard act to follow?" - Gary Allan, A Feelin' Like That

I ran with the bulls for my 30th birthday

Like everyone else, I had to take a pause during the COVID-19 pandemic. Traveling become extremely complicated when trying to navigate various government restrictions. After two years of lock downs and travel restrictions, I was staring down the barrel of my thirtieth birthday. I hadn't moved on from the heartbreak, and my travel coping mechanism had been stifled, so I decided to bring in the new decade in Spain running with the bulls. But the truth was I was wanting something more.

The new decade presented some new opportunities, I thought. Career options, travel plans, and a new outlook on life. It didn't quite all go as planned (as I left my career field and had to get worse before I got better emotionally), but my travel flourished. After ten days in Spain, I was going on trips at least once a month, if not twice. Thankfully I had a job that was conducive to constant long weekends and weeks off. I camped on the beach under the mountain in Maui, learned to SCUBA dive in Tulum, and had hostel pasta with new friends of every nationality in the Dominican Republic. On top of that, Jo and I had planned The Great Gallivanting, and that only fueled my travel desires even more.

The truth, however, was that with thirty in the rear-view, I felt a need to make things worth it, whatever that meant. It was pushing me hard, and I felt the need to step up. Which I did. Not always to my benefit, but I did.

Parting Thoughts: The Great Gallivanting

Well, I started writing this post on a Ryanair flight somewhere over the Pyrenees, and I'm finishing on a rooftop terrace in Morocco after a homemade traditional Moroccan breakfast. I sit here much more relaxed, and admittedly at home, in the western stretch of the Sahara. I started traveling as a coping mechanism. An unhealthy one. I will always admit that. I tried to put on a face of wanting to explore the world and other cultures, which was true, but ultimately it isn't why I started traveling.

But do I regret it? Not a bit.

Regardless of the reason I started traveling, the last three months on The Great Gallivanting have changed my perspective. I'm no longer under threat of emotional damage (and I haven't been for some time) from that heartbreak. I have seen so many things that everyone wants to see. I've had many experiences one doesn't even know to ask for. I've developed travel crushes in seconds flat, and I've spent way too much money on pints of Guinness and cider to spend time with them. As I move about the Earth, I am constantly thinking about the mentally unhealthy lifestyle I was living before between my job and traveling. If it weren't for that, though, I never would have started. If it wasn't for the bad reasons, I wouldn't be staring at the Atlas Mountains reflecting on how I got here in the first place.

I think Men in Black put it best:

"Is it worth it?"

"Oh yeah, it's worth it...if you're strong enough."

I didn't start out strong enough, but I got there as fast as I could. And let me tell you: it is worth it.