Seventeen.
29 October 2014 (Chicago)
30 October 2014 (Australia)
Seventeen. That’s the number. The number of what? The number of planes I’ve boarded in the last 12 months, including the one I am currently on. I’m always flying, I’m always moving, I’m always going somewhere.
On the way to the Dallas Fort Worth airport this morning, the traffic was stopped for about a mile, and I sat in silence with my brother as we crawled down the interstate highway. I enjoy silence, there is a beauty in nothing being said. But my brother broke the silence with a question that almost 4 hours later still has my attention.
“Is everything you own in that suitcase?”
I peered over my shoulder and looked at the blue, green, and yellow piece of luggage that has also boarded each of these 17 different planes with me.
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
Sure, I have a few pieces of life in a few different locations around the world. Maybe a few clothing items, a blender, and a few bikinis and beach towels. But most of what I owned was on my back.
I like it that way.
You see, we live in this world where if we’re not careful, we fall into this mould of how we are ‘supposed’ to live our lives.
Play, school, university, postgrad, work, work, work, buy a House, Work, Get Married, Have Kids, Work More, Spend Money, Buy a Lexus, and then decide when you’re 50-60+ that it’s time to start living beyond the norms. But still, it’s a bit normal to do this at that age anyway. So really, we fall into this cookie-cutter life that ‘we have always dreamed of.’ While this is really great to some, the idea of it all is suffocating, and this mould to me smells damp, musty, and overused.
I find it hard to talk to people about life. When I give the slightest indication that I don’t have a steady job, or a bank account that is flourishing with money on a regular basis, I’m deemed a ‘failure,’ on so many levels. The blank stares on the faces of those I share my story with, aren’t really blank at all. Their lack of expression simply says more than the words themselves.
I’m not trying to be the opposite of everyone else. I just can’t do what everyone else is doing. It doesn’t feel right. I’ll be honest, I would like to have a car. But as soon as I decide what continent I will call home for the next few years, a purchase will be made. But
Seventeen. That’s the number. The number of what? The number of planes I’ve boarded in the last 12 months, including the one I am currently on. I’m always flying, I’m always moving, I’m always going somewhere.
On the way to the Dallas Fort Worth airport this morning, the traffic was stopped for about a mile, and I sat in silence with my brother as we crawled down the interstate highway. I enjoy silence, there is a beauty in nothing being said. But my brother broke the silence with a question that almost 4 hours later still has my attention.
“Is everything you own in that suitcase?”
I peered over my shoulder and looked at the blue, green, and yellow piece of luggage that has also boarded each of these 17 different planes with me.
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
Sure, I have a few pieces of life in a few different locations around the world. Maybe a few clothing items, a blender, and a few bikinis and beach towels. But most of what I owned was on my back.
I like it that way.
You see, we live in this world where if we’re not careful, we fall into this mould of how we are ‘supposed’ to live our lives.
Play, school, university, postgrad, work, work, work, buy a House, Work, Get Married, Have Kids, Work More, Spend Money, Buy a Lexus, and then decide when you’re 50-60+ that it’s time to start living beyond the norms. But still, it’s a bit normal to do this at that age anyway. So really, we fall into this cookie-cutter life that ‘we have always dreamed of.’ While this is really great to some, the idea of it all is suffocating, and this mould to me smells damp, musty, and overused.
I find it hard to talk to people about life. When I give the slightest indication that I don’t have a steady job, or a bank account that is flourishing with money on a regular basis, I’m deemed a ‘failure,’ on so many levels. The blank stares on the faces of those I share my story with, aren’t really blank at all. Their lack of expression simply says more than the words themselves.
I’m not trying to be the opposite of everyone else. I just can’t do what everyone else is doing. It doesn’t feel right. I’ll be honest, I would like to have a car. But as soon as I decide what continent I will call home for the next few years, a purchase will be made. But
apart from that I just don’t see a point. What’s the point in owning things, wearing a
designer label, wearing your hair a certain way to impress people who won’t even
remember your first name.
It’s lonely. I don’t wish to be doing it all alone. But it’s more lonely trying to fit in with people who don’t understand why I live the way I do. And I reckon surrounding ourselves with the wrong people is lonelier than solitude itself.
And it’s really not that lonely anyway. I have God. And whenever the road is bumpy, I just open up the best book ever written and read about roads traveled that are much bumpier than mine.
It’s dangerous to compare yourself to others. You don’t know where someone has come from, what their past is, or even what news they received this morning when they woke up. But still the judging eyes come out when I explain that I’m almost 25, unemployed, and not really too worried.
I do worry about the future in some ways. I worry that I won’t find someone who can travel this un-sequential path I follow. I worry because I did meet someone once who I felt spread the avocado on my toast quite nicely. But that’s another chapter in itself.
This chapter is about movement. And while the majority of my friends become slaves to med school, student loans, and jobs that will absorb their lives completely for the next 30 years, I simply grab my bag and find somewhere to go. Although I completed an undergrad degree, and would love to study a Masters, I don’t necessarily see the necessity behind it all. You see, this life of travel has educated me more than sitting in a classroom ever did.
A new country. A new currency. A new accent. A new economic system. A new road system. A new, well, everything. And when being thrown into the deep end, you grow and learn so much more than a 9-5 will ever permit.
I might not look fancy on paper, but I’m fearless. And with God by my side, the paper simply becomes a piece of me that I glance at only to remember that I am human at times.
Maybe I’m young and ignorant. But I can’t live inside a box wondering when I will ever get out. People say at my age I should be well on my way to making a career and family for myself. But age is just a number, and the words career and family only have valuable meaning to the person that uses them.
To have seen the continents I’ve seen, to have lived as simply as I have, to have met the people I have met, is worth far more than anything else I can fathom up in the cookie- cutter life that society has picked for me.
It’s lonely. I don’t wish to be doing it all alone. But it’s more lonely trying to fit in with people who don’t understand why I live the way I do. And I reckon surrounding ourselves with the wrong people is lonelier than solitude itself.
And it’s really not that lonely anyway. I have God. And whenever the road is bumpy, I just open up the best book ever written and read about roads traveled that are much bumpier than mine.
It’s dangerous to compare yourself to others. You don’t know where someone has come from, what their past is, or even what news they received this morning when they woke up. But still the judging eyes come out when I explain that I’m almost 25, unemployed, and not really too worried.
I do worry about the future in some ways. I worry that I won’t find someone who can travel this un-sequential path I follow. I worry because I did meet someone once who I felt spread the avocado on my toast quite nicely. But that’s another chapter in itself.
This chapter is about movement. And while the majority of my friends become slaves to med school, student loans, and jobs that will absorb their lives completely for the next 30 years, I simply grab my bag and find somewhere to go. Although I completed an undergrad degree, and would love to study a Masters, I don’t necessarily see the necessity behind it all. You see, this life of travel has educated me more than sitting in a classroom ever did.
A new country. A new currency. A new accent. A new economic system. A new road system. A new, well, everything. And when being thrown into the deep end, you grow and learn so much more than a 9-5 will ever permit.
I might not look fancy on paper, but I’m fearless. And with God by my side, the paper simply becomes a piece of me that I glance at only to remember that I am human at times.
Maybe I’m young and ignorant. But I can’t live inside a box wondering when I will ever get out. People say at my age I should be well on my way to making a career and family for myself. But age is just a number, and the words career and family only have valuable meaning to the person that uses them.
To have seen the continents I’ve seen, to have lived as simply as I have, to have met the people I have met, is worth far more than anything else I can fathom up in the cookie- cutter life that society has picked for me.
So long as you are following God you are right on track. Besides Jesus didn't start his full time work till 30, Joseph didn't come into his own till 30 and I'm sure there were heaps of others who lived like nomads for awhile. Just remember, you are not alone.
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