My husband David and I have lived in four sublet apartments this past year. Our lives have been anything but ordinary. In November of 2005 we vacated our San Francisco apartment, threw everything we owned into a 10’x15’ storage unit, left our car with a solar battery charger in a friend’s driveway, and took off for 11 magical weeks in Southeast Asia. The journey was part belated honeymoon, part trip of a lifetime. We returned refreshed to the Bay Area for several months, then packed the car to the gills and headed to Seattle in search of a more affordable quality of life.
After four months in the Pacific Northwest, as the American dream began to crumble before our eyes and my California-born-and-raised psyche wore thin with winter fast approaching, we had an epiphany. There had to be more to life than what we’d envisioned for our late-30s selves. Our innocent plan to get married, purchase a house, adopt a shelter dog, have a baby, buy a Subaru Outback, and nestle down into suburban oblivion with other bleary-eyed folks wasn’t sitting right with our souls.
We were thirsty for something we couldn’t quite pinpoint. With our stuff still in storage, no house to call home, no kids to raise, and a decent lump of dough in the bank, we took a bold leap. Why not spend that down payment money on something that really mattered? We’d felt most satisfied and at our best when thrust into other cultures and challenged by exotic experiences. Thus a yearlong adventure around the world was born.
Bursting with initial excitement, we Googled farm stays in New Zealand. I contacted a non-profit about volunteering in Rwanda. My husband daydreamed about leaving his successful seven-year job (freedom!). Our creative minds visualized a book deal. We were going global, and as I allowed the truth to unfold, I was utterly terrified. Could we pull this off with only a few months’ planning? Would we survive 365 days in cheap guesthouses? Could I stomach three meals a day on the road? Would I recognize my best friend’s toddler in a year? Would I miss my family desperately? Could I give up the creature comforts we Americans so readily enjoy?
The answer, despite occasional bouts of anxiety, is a resounding “YES!” What we’re doing is daunting, but it’s also exciting, bold, and in a Buddhist sort of way, necessary. Call it blissful karma that on New Year’s Day, as we awoke back in San Francisco to begin planning the adventure that will change our lives, this E.M. Forster gem appeared in my inbox (I receive a daily peace quote from a local Zen center): “We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” So true, so true!
That said, arranging a trip of this magnitude is no easy feat, despite my efforts to allow it to just be. There’s insurance to buy, bills to settle, a car to sell, mail to forward, gear to secure, malaria pills to ponder, shots to endure, doctors to visit, taxes to pay, living wills to execute, banks to consult, visas to acquire, airline tickets to purchase, family and friends to bid farewell…ah, if the list seems never-ending at times, that’s because it IS.
And it doesn’t help that I’m a recovering Type-A, despite having sought refuge in Eastern religion ten years ago. Old habits die hard, and my desire for control often rears its ugly head. I’m deeply grateful for my daily yoga practice; for the Bhagavad Gita; for my half-hearted attempts to sit each morning; for my Seattle-based Buddhist coach who graciously replies to my frantic emails; for the support of family and friends; and for my husband, who agreed to undertake this wild journey with me in the first place. My incessant plea of “I need to travel more” was answered, which just further validates the power of intention. It is real, and I have $7,000 worth of airline tickets and a one-year visa for India to prove it.
Most people with whom we share our story marvel at our ability to pull it off. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin” is something we hear often. David reminds me that most folks don’t do what we’re doing because it’s hard, not to mention downright scary. It’s only when I speak to Zen-y others that I’m blessed with an instantaneous smile, an admirable hug, an “Awesome” reply. Seems folks who’ve dabbled in Eastern practices have an easier time picturing the nomadic path we’ve chosen. Go figure.
We keep serving up our daily routine, often because we don’t know any differently. We’re simply not aware that we could shake things up a bit and still be okay. But I don’t believe it really benefits us to stick with the familiar, to stay mired in our habitual thoughts, to remain sheltered in our day-to-day patterns. As hard as it is to push outside that comfort zone, it’s in so doing that we truly grow as human beings and become more fulfilled.
Trust yourself to find the courage to venture beyond what you know, and you’ll blossom into something greater than you could ever fathom. I’m living proof, and it feels great.
