The Travel Bug
When did I fall in love with travel? My first European tour is probably the most accurate answer…but hopping on a plane was never a foreign concept to me, having grown up on a miniscule island in the middle of nowhere. Alternating time between Guam and Philippines, and taking occasional trips to the mainland (as we islanders prefer to call the continental U.S.), it never occurred to me that not everyone had a passport. So, perhaps I could more accurately say that travel was ingrained in me at a young age, and it wasn’t until Europe that I began to truly appreciate it.
France, Monaco, Italy, Germany, the Netherlands, England. It was in these countries that I rediscovered my passion for history, art, and language. It was after that fateful trip when my curiosity could no longer be contained by my (now) native San Francisco Bay. I’d been afflicted by the travel bug. Since then, I’ve been so enamored with travel that, when I began writing reviews on Gogobot, the startup surprisingly interviewed me. (Read the interview. » )
Recently, my affliction has taken a toll for the worse. I visited Spain late last year, sampling Portugal and Morocco along the way, and paid Italy another visit a mere 7 months later. Yet, here I am, not yet 6 months home (even less, if you factor in business travel), and I’m thirsting for more. Herein lies my internal debate: stay and wither away amidst daydreams, or pack up and be my own heroine. Obviously, taking a prolonged transatlantic expedition means putting my career on hold. How will I know if it’s the right decision? It’s a catch-22: I can’t know until I make it.
As I remind myself that “regret” is not in my vocabulary, my phone chimes a new message; it’s an ecard from a friend saying this:
If you’re not giving the world the best you have, what world are you saving it for?”
While it doesn’t mention travel, it strikes a chord. Until I sate my wanderlust, it feels as though I’m plowing half-heartedly through anything else. My phone screen darkens. Hitting the “home” button to reread the message, I suddenly see the screensaver I never pay attention to. In big, bold letters, it says “Just Go.”