The first international trip I ever took (besides road trips to Canada) was to Bolivia. I traveled there in 2002 with a church group. We were there to help re-build a school dormitory for children who had to walk more than 4 hours through the rainforest to attend school. It was eye-opening to a 20 year old who had spent all of her life in the “first-world.” I loved every second of it. It was fascinating to learn about how people in other parts of the world lived. How they went about their day to day lives. I loved the culture, speaking the language (5 years of Spanish got me by) and the freedom that came with living a simpler life. What surprised me the most, was how freaking happy everyone seemed. Even when they had – what most Americans would consider- nothing.
The world got a whole lot bigger for me, and I wanted to see all of it.
The real culture shock got me when I returned home. I remember fighting with my sister the day I arrived home over using the internet. She needed the phone line I was using or some shit like that. Remember dial up? It threw me into a depression. I was appalled that we had the audacity to fight over such a first world problem when some people didn’t have clean water to drink. I vowed to do something more with my mediocre life – and to visit Latin America again immediately.
Yet, I didn’t. Not right away anyway. I got lazy. I prodded along towards a degree at the community college. Mostly because, as much as I longed to travel and move away – I was still too chicken shit to leave my hometown or my family.
Home was familiar and easy. I loved to leave it, but I was relieved to come back to it. In the few years since my dad died I hadn’t really made many new friends. And although I went to college, my mom and my brother were also attending the same community college. Weirdly, at school we would only hang out with each other – I think it was our way of dealing with dad’s death.
Then came the guy
He seemed so exotic, like the Latin American guys I found cute on my trip to Bolivia. A unique mix of Cuban and Chinese ancestry. We met in chemistry lab of all places (we had chemistry – gag). He was attractive, charismatic, and completely full of himself. He flirted shamelessly with me, while also having a serious girlfriend. That fact disgusted me, and I vowed to never date someone like him.
Colorful Honduras
Instead, I married him two years later at the oh-so-mature age of 22. He had just turned 21 two weeks before our wedding. How stupid could we get!? I decided I wanted to go to architecture school, and had been accepted to the University of Florida. We were going to be moving away. His parents were religious, his father a pastor. The horrific idea of us moving away and living together unmarried probably prompted the proposal in the first place. Christian guilt. But it seemed like it was what you were supposed to do, so I went through the motions. Almost feeling detached from the whole thing. Good news was, I got to return to my beloved Latin America for our honeymoon, a 10 day unscripted adventure in Costa Rica. And then again to Honduras for a long weekend (God bless budget airlines).
Meeting new friends in Honduras
Looking back, our marriage really never was compatible, but in the end it did get out of my comfort zone. But, oh, the things you do for the people you think you love. I ended up not attending architecture school, and instead we moved out of our hometown to Orlando. I got a corporate job to support us while he finished his pre-med. Putting aside any hopes and dreams for myself, I helped him get accepted to medical school. At the time, I didn’t mind. I did what I thought a wife was supposed to do – make your husband’s dreams your own. In 2009 he was accepted to medical school in Atlanta, and we moved again
Branching out
Living in Atlanta was the first time I had ever lived outside of Florida. Essentially I was way from my family – my safety net, the people I felt the most comfortable around especially after dads death. But it ended up being the best thing for me. It was a catalyst to getting on with my life. Since I had a husband in medical school, he was never around (and also not at all interested in our marriage). I was usually on my own. So I got busy making friends – my own friends. Friends that had no ties to my husband or family. It was liberating, and oh so vital.
Competing in my first triathlon with my new Atlanta friends
A new beginning
It’s no surprise my marriage failed. If I’m really honest with myself, it was a mistake before it even began. Despite the fact that we were completely and fundamentally different people – we also weren’t even sure who those people were. We were far too young and half-formed as people when we attached ourselves to one another. And it stunted our growth.
The only way to grow up and move on was to cut the ties. At the time, it broke my spirit. I was stubborn. I didn’t want to admit that I’d made mistakes and wasted 5 years of my life on an empty marriage. But then I realized that I had a golden opportunity at my fingertips – a second chance.
I was re-born. Even though I wasn’t as young as I’d liked to have been, I was given a second chance at life at 28. I was free. I had no children, no debt, and no ties to a serious career. My dreams of traveling and experiencing foreign lands could be resurrected. Freedom to finally pursue my own passions and find out who I really was, and what I wanted to do with my life.
A one way ticket
After some soul searching, I landed on a far flung idea. Combining my love of foreign countries with my passion for history and architecture, I would go back to school for a graduate degree in Historic Conservation – in Oxford, England. I figured, if you’re going to study historic architecture, it’s in your best interest to go where they have some really old shit.
I had never been to Europe or crossed the pond. But you can bet your ass that within just a few months, I sold off a 5 year marriage’s worth of baggage and packed everything I owned into two suitcases. I sold my car and bought a one way ticket to London – and barely looked back.
Crossing over
England turned out to be the best decision of my life. It was the gateway from my mediocre life of sadness to a new version of myself. And a transition into the real me. My ex had subscribed to the philosophy that if you work hard and save all your money, then you get to travel when you retire. As I moved on, I realized that was bullshit. What if – like my dad – you didn’t live to retire? Why starve yourself of enriching life experiences only to gorge on them later? As a kid, I used to save all of my Easter candy to eat later, not wanting to squander it. Eventually it all rotted before I got to taste it. I wasn’t going to live my life that way. Not anymore. I was finally back on track.
“And then there is the most dangerous risk of all — the risk of spending your life not doing what you want on the bet you can buy yourself the freedom to do it later.” – Randy Komisar
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