The world is so GINORMOUS. Seriously, when you stop and think about it, we take up such a tiny, tiny amount of room and oxygen and space on this planet, and traveling to see the rest of it is something that everybody dreams about. Consider yourself lucky if you’ve gotten to see some of this beautiful country, let alone, been outside of the country and seen some of this beautiful world.
If you do get to travel a lot, anytime you see me, I would love to have a conversation about your adventures and see some pictures, but right now I just wanted to sit down and talk about some of the opportunities I’ve had to travel and share some interesting stories.
My first story goes all the way back to 2000. I was actually born in Tucson, Arizona (we didn’t leave our home in Tucson, Arizona for some California grass hahaha please let me know if you get that reference). Many of you knew that because of the first tattoo I got, the blue Kokopelli. Though I don’t remember much of Arizona, that tattoo is very special to me– it symbolizes not only home but overcoming fear. The Kokopelli is a Native American symbol that means fertility, and it actually originated in Arizona, just like me. When I was little, my parents had Kokopellis everywhere. Literally, everywhere you looked you would see either a statue or a t-shirt or a decoration hanging on the wall, it was freaky how many there were. As a matter of fact, they were so freaky that for the longest time, I was terrified of them. I couldn’t even look at a Kokopelli without getting scared away. A few years later and I couldn’t think of anything better to symbolize my home. Plus, I like the irony that the very first thing I was ever terribly afraid of was the very first thing I wanted to put on my body permanently. That story has not a lot to do with travel, but Tucson has a very special place in my heart and I thought I’d mention it. Hopefully I’ll go back soon (wink, wink, Mom and Dad.. I know you’re reading).
The best travel story I have is one I tell all the time. Almost two years ago, my family and I went to New York City, my favorite place in the world, to visit my cousin, Steven for Christmas and New Years. Steven actually got us VIP tickets to the ball drop on New Years Eve, and I was so excited for that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. New Years Eve night, my mom and I ended up going to the ball drop and my dad and my brother stayed with Steven at his restaurant. After the ball drop, when we met back up with my family, my dad was very obviously drunk off his ass. So the rest of us headed back to the subway to go back to the house, since it was around one in the morning at this point. We walked outside to leave, and much to our surprise, nobody could find my dad. We went back into the restaurant and Steven told us he left a few minutes ago, thinking we were out there. My dad, very drunk, alone, at one in the morning, was wandering around the streets of New York on New Years. Great.
We tried calling my dad, but he either didn’t answer, or wasn’t very helpful when he did answer, so the phone proved to be pointless. Several hours of frenzy and yelling and impatience later, we ran into my dad at around three in the morning. However, we had barely recognized him because his signature glasses were broken down the middle. Apparently, a lot had happened in the time that we were separated. His version of the story goes as follows:
He was walking down the streets looking for us, and a Hasidic Jewish man was following behind him, minding his own business. A third man, a drunk white man with a group of girls, walked past them and yelled very racist, rude slurs at the Jewish man. My dad, whom even in his drunken state, has the kindest heart I know, turned around and apologized to the Jewish man, saying none of the things the white man said were true, and calling the white man an “ignorant asshole.” Apparently, the white man didn’t take that very well. They started yelling back and forth, the girls were yelling at my dad, and when the man raised his arm to hit my dad, he whipped a champagne bottle Steven had given him out of the inside of his jacket, and banged it over the man’s head. Then, one of the girls jumped on his back and broke his glasses.
However chaotic and annoying it was in the moment, I love looking back on that night and recalling that story. It highlights the best and worst of people, and it got a good laugh out of my English teacher when we had to write a story about the character traits of someone we know. New York has given me so many amazing memories but I know that story will be one that I tell to my kids one day.
I’ve had the opportunity to go to so many cool places in my life. I have so many fun memories from staying with my aunt in Fort Worth, Texas for a week, I recently got to travel with a group of my friends to Chicago, Illinois, and apparently when I was too young to remember, my family took me to California and Mexico (Mom, Dad, again, if you want to help me remember any time soon, I’d be fine with that). Some of my favorite memories occurred all over the country, from east coast to west coast, from Florida all the way up to New York.
Boys and girls, take advantage of every opportunity you get to experience something new. Adventures like this are what shape us and give us the excitement and the thrill and the longing to discover.
Never stop discovering. Keep that sense of wonder, and the world will open itself up to you. Adventure is out there.
— mal
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