Memories are a delicate and precious thing, so it's easy to want to hold them close for fear of losing them, but it is in that fear that the true loss occurs. Time and age ultimately, viciously, steal them away from us, and only in sharing are we able to keep them alive. Why not let others taste what you did when the memories were created? It is in the tasting that they may recognize a piece of themselves, and continue the story where you left off.
My most precious memories are those I've made while traveling. Up until this point I've only casually hinted at the journeys I've taken on the blog, foolishly reluctant to share them with you. Somehow I felt that by sharing my experiences with others I would be cheapening them, or doing my memories an injustice. I floundered to even describe them in my travel journals as they happened. How could I ever expect you to relate?
Now, I realize that all I can do is try. All I can do is share my memories, my experiences, and hope that their meaning transcends my inaptitude to describe them. This is my first big step in leading a life of passion, shared...
Growing up travel was reserved for visiting families to the north and south of us. I spent my childhood dreaming up excursions to far away lands, but I would be 18 before any of these dreams became reality. Ironically my first trip abroad was anything but pleasant. I couldn't sleep on the plane, I whined a lot, and missed my then boyfriend something terrible. I was touring England with my sister an my mother, but all I could think about was Virginia. Then, half way through the trip it clicked.
I can remember, with extreme clarity, the second the travel bug bit me. We were sitting in a pub watching a football match on TV, eating mediocre pub type foods, listening to locals shout at the screen, and I was smiling. I was suddenly in love with the world. Something about experiencing this part of England made sense to me. I was seeing beyond the touristy veil for the first time, to what life was like in another part of the world. I was, for a split second, so very English. I liked it.
To experience a culture outside of your own expectations, accepting it for what it is, is a beautiful thing. It is a lesson unlike any other in life. I walked away from that experience in England a changed person. I recognized that though I desperately wanted to see the world, I wanted it to be on my terms. I didn't want to experience the world through the "must see" attractions tourists cling to, but through the locals who called it home. I wanted to get lost in whatever culture I found myself in next. I wanted an education in what it meant to be from...(fill in the blank).
Lucky for me, this was just that start of my journeys and little did I know just how soon I'd be traveling again. Stay tuned for part II next week. big kiss, bekuh
FOLLOW ALONG:
