I have been traveling close to full time for many years. When I first started, I was a woman alone (with her dog). The first comment I would hear from friends was "When are you coming home?' and the second was "Aren't you afraid?"
Assuming a woman traveling alone would be afraid, I struggled to understand the thought process of my well meaning friends. Maybe they thought I should be afraid of being murdered, raped, taken advantage of, being lonely, or getting lost. I was no more afraid of those things while traveling, than I was at my home.
I was traveling. for the most part in the US. It's pretty hard to get really lost if you have a map. I did not always know where I was, but I was never truly lost. Was I lonely. Yes. Sometimes. But after divorces, break ups, parents passing, and children leaving home. . . I was no more lonely than at home.
Have I been scammed on the road? Well, I've paid too much for things on occasion, but I have also been helped by lovely people that expected nothing in return. The man who fixed the broken water pump in my RV. The couple who invited me to stay in their yard (with full RV hookup) while they were away for a week. The...well, you get the idea.
Rape? Murder? I believe the statistics prove that those are more likely to happen by people you know.
So no. I wasn't afraid.
The REAL peril of traveling. Of meeting new people. Of seeing wonderful sites, Of discovering awesomeness in every corner of our country? The real peril is that there is nowhere that "feels like home".
I return to where I started, of course, to visit family and friends, but all too soon I begin to feel bound by the old me and long to be off. I love them dearly, and actually appreciate them more, because I know what it is like to be without them, but the road calls. I am compelled to go.
How can I explain how it feels to walk the same land where my great great great grandfather walked, to experience the history of our country rather than read about it in a book? I wonder at the nature and animals that are not native to my birthplace. I'm awed by the creativity and kindness of people I meet. To me it is exhilarating, intoxicating and my addiction.
Am I always on a traveling high? No. There is a lot of guilt involved. Guilt about not being there on a day to day basis. Guilt that I am not the mother, nor grandmother that my mother was. Yet, if called, I would drop anything and be there in a minute. Am I giving them the gift of independence, or am I shirking my responsibilities? Only they can tell you that.
For now, I travel. I travel because I can. I travel because I am overwhelmingly curious and yes, addicted.
People talk of "bucket lists", of places to see before they die.
My bucket is not a list, but a serendipity of experiences added drop by drop. I prefer to travel "filling my bucket" with tastes, sights, sounds and the music of life.
Assuming a woman traveling alone would be afraid, I struggled to understand the thought process of my well meaning friends. Maybe they thought I should be afraid of being murdered, raped, taken advantage of, being lonely, or getting lost. I was no more afraid of those things while traveling, than I was at my home.
I was traveling. for the most part in the US. It's pretty hard to get really lost if you have a map. I did not always know where I was, but I was never truly lost. Was I lonely. Yes. Sometimes. But after divorces, break ups, parents passing, and children leaving home. . . I was no more lonely than at home.
Have I been scammed on the road? Well, I've paid too much for things on occasion, but I have also been helped by lovely people that expected nothing in return. The man who fixed the broken water pump in my RV. The couple who invited me to stay in their yard (with full RV hookup) while they were away for a week. The...well, you get the idea.
Rape? Murder? I believe the statistics prove that those are more likely to happen by people you know.
So no. I wasn't afraid.
The REAL peril of traveling. Of meeting new people. Of seeing wonderful sites, Of discovering awesomeness in every corner of our country? The real peril is that there is nowhere that "feels like home".
I return to where I started, of course, to visit family and friends, but all too soon I begin to feel bound by the old me and long to be off. I love them dearly, and actually appreciate them more, because I know what it is like to be without them, but the road calls. I am compelled to go.
How can I explain how it feels to walk the same land where my great great great grandfather walked, to experience the history of our country rather than read about it in a book? I wonder at the nature and animals that are not native to my birthplace. I'm awed by the creativity and kindness of people I meet. To me it is exhilarating, intoxicating and my addiction.
Am I always on a traveling high? No. There is a lot of guilt involved. Guilt about not being there on a day to day basis. Guilt that I am not the mother, nor grandmother that my mother was. Yet, if called, I would drop anything and be there in a minute. Am I giving them the gift of independence, or am I shirking my responsibilities? Only they can tell you that.
For now, I travel. I travel because I can. I travel because I am overwhelmingly curious and yes, addicted.
People talk of "bucket lists", of places to see before they die.
My bucket is not a list, but a serendipity of experiences added drop by drop. I prefer to travel "filling my bucket" with tastes, sights, sounds and the music of life.