Do we spend the first half of our lives trying to figure out what to do with the second half of our lives or do we spend the second half of our lives wondering just what the heck happened in the first half? Tough call, but traveling can help us figure it out.
Going it alone can be lonely. Sometimes, during trying times, we need help from other people to help us rediscover the bright side. Which is why, in my late 20s, in the true spirit of neurotic Manhattan, I went to see an Upper West Side shrink masquerading as a career counselor. I was living with a girlfriend at the time when my résumé began to resemble vomited spaghetti. My addicted traveler pattern of working in sales for a year and then traveling for a year was—in the traditional career mindset—tattooing a hazard sign on my forehead. Freshly dismissed from a soulless job, I announced to my girlfriend that I wanted to write books and give presentations about world travel. She, sensing unsteady grandiosity, suggested that I seek professional help.
So off to Barbara Allen I went, a healer who had reinvented herself as a career counselor after spending 20 years working as a death and dying counselor; a saint who reached out to terminally ill people and their families facing their worst moments. Time after time, Barbara observed that it typically wasn’t until people were courting death that they realized what a pity it was to not have identified their passions and migrate toward them fearlessly. I should have. Why didn’t I? What was I afraid of? They’d all wonder, what did I have to lose?
Searching into my eyes, Barbara said, “After 20 years of dealing with people who finally realized what they were meant to do with their lives after it was too late, I committed the rest of my life to helping vibrant people like you to realize their dreams while they still have their health.” Barbara—60 bucks an hour, holy cow that’s a lot, I need to get better quick—started asking questions.
Her first question: “I’m going to give you a million dollars right now. What are you going to do with it?” I began to divvy up my bounty with a third going to a cabin in the woods, a third invested, then I’d travel the world until the rest vaporized. She got me fantasizing about those three scenarios for about five minutes until suddenly asking, “Is your girlfriend in that picture right now?” I swallowed hard, shook my head, and whispered a solemn no. She peered from beneath a lowered forehead, “Contemplate who is and who is not in your dreams.”
I went back to my apartment, schemed a crusade, hit the road, wrote a book, and began giving travel seminars. My kind of therapy.
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There are exemptions to every decree—sometimes backtracking rediscovers bliss. Nobody ever forgets visiting Japan. Fresh out of college and backpacking with no expiration date, I hitched 300 miles from Tokyo to a rural village outside Osaka and unexpectedly ended up living with the Doi family for a month. An unofficial babysitter and English-speaking influence for a one- and three-year-old, I relished time with an extended family where four generations lived under one roof.
Twenty-five years later, I returned to Japan and reunited with Emiko and Rieko as adults. Although they didn’t actually remember me, I left behind audio and written English lessons to keep that ball rolling, and their parents documented our time together with photos. The stirring reunion was like finding long-lost family in another land, and a reminder that life is sweet.
After humorously reenacting some of the poses from the photos when they were toddlers, we spent another day together, shed a few sappy tears, and hugged one more time. In a country where being on time means being early, I realized that although you cannot be in two places at once, your spirit can. Later, solo again, I bowed to no one in particular, and boarded a plane.
(from: The Directions to Happiness: A 135-Country Quest for Life Lessons)