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no.004 // Boarding calls, change, and choosing to walk away
[APR 2024]
So a funny thing happened the other night. I was at Denver International Airport, awaiting the boarding call for Air Canada flight 575, Denver to Vancouver, the first leg of my journey back to Asia. This trip had been years in the making. I attempted a long walk across South Korea in 2018, only to fail because I was not prepared. I vowed that I would return, some day, and finish.
Last year in early 2023, I set a marker on the horizon: March 26, 2024. This would be the day I would avenge myself. I committed. I bought an airplane ticket. I marked out the dates on my calendar.
And I began training.
I started by walking one mile a day for the entire month of January. By March 2023 I was walking 3-4 miles, taking a break, and then another 3-4 miles back home. In the spring and early summer #TenMileTuesday became my weekly ritual. I was invested. I was obsessive. I had unfinished business across the Pacific.
On and on my training progressed. I was wiser than I was in 2018, methodical about my preparation. I had daily, weekly, and monthly targets, and by the fall of last year I could confidently set out on a 20 mile walk. The next step was to plan a series of progressively longer practice walks.
In October, the day before I turned 42, I walked the Marvin Braude trail, a 22 mile jaunt from Will Rogers State Park to Torrance Beach in Los Angeles.
In December I completed the Platte River trail, a 30 mile, one day walk from Brighton to South Denver.
And in January of this year, I walked for eight days along the Florida Coast to Coast trail; 175 miles from the Gulf of Mexico in St. Petersburg to the Atlantic in Titusville.
I was ready.
I had put in the work.
South Korea would rue the day it got the better of me.
But….
Back to that funny thing that happened. On Tuesday night, March 26, as the boarding calls for my flight echoed overhead at gate A45, I walked away.
At first, I thought it was just nervousness. For as many times as I’ve flown, I still become anxious before every flight. I’ll usually have a beer or two beforehand to calm my nerves. I’ll text my girlfriend and tell her that those voices in my head are back, warning me that I’ve pushed my luck, and this flight, the one I’m about to board, this is the one that is finally going to make the news when it crashes somewhere off the coast.
(And of course she always patiently and logically talks me down. She’s the best, for many reasons.)
So I’m used to that feeling, that dread of boarding an enclosed tube that I can’t get out of for hours at a time. I can even accurately predict when the voice in my head will start to warn me of impending doom. (It's usually when I'm walking out the door to head to the airport.) It’s all very commonplace at this point in my travels.
But this time, it was different.
I experienced my usual anxiousness, and I successfully drowned it out with a few beers in the terminal. But still, something deep down persisted.
I just didn’t want to go.
It’s not that I didn’t want to fly, it wasn’t a fear of the heights or claustrophobia. What I was feeling was foreign to me. It was more personal, a dull ache down in my soul. Sitting there at my gate, I felt something I've never experienced when I travel. I was sad.
I began to send Sarah texts, texts she was expecting, and she lovingly began – again – to talk me down. It’s our routine when I fly. But, like I said, this was different. Tears began to well up in my eyes. My heart was heavy. Usually when I walk through an airport, I get little bursts of excitement as I pass each gate.
“Ooohhhh. Nice! That one is going to Miami.
And that one to Berlin! Exciting!
New York! Seattle! Anchorage!
I’m so jealous.”
Not this time. Something was off. I wasn’t me.
* * * * *
Life is interesting. It’s constantly evolving and shifting. Sometimes the changes are gradual and we don’t see them until some time has passed and we can look backwards and reflect. Sometimes change is drastic and sudden and catches us off guard. And then other times, it’s all of the above. That’s what I experienced at the airport.
When I first began to travel in 2010, I was a different person. I was coming off of a divorce and some derailed career plans. My life was going nowhere. It was filled with roadblocks, disappointment, and worst of all, familiarity. Something needed to change. And by something, I mean me. So I found a job in an elementary school in South Korea, discarded most of my old life, and flew off into the horizon.
12 months on the other side of the world was the balm my soul needed. That year in South Korea was full of newness, adventure, and healing. It was the best decision I've ever made.
That was then.
Over the past year or so I have been feeling a growing sense of disconnectedness when I fly off to somewhere new. As I look back at the past 12 months, I can still feel pangs of loneliness and isolation. In Dublin I thought it was the gloomy Irish weather. In Barcelona I thought I was just tired because it was a long trip. In Havana I thought it was because the city was hot and dirty.
But at the airport last week, waiting to return to a country that will forever hold a special place in my heart, the feeling of isolation and loneliness, before I ever stepped onto the airplane, was strong enough that it caused me to physically stand up and walk away.
Yes, travel once saved my life. But that was almost 15 years ago. I'm a different person now. In the airport, waiting to board an airplane, I suddenly understood with full clarity that it was time that I stopped making decisions that were familiar, but no longer served me.
There were moments of sadness that night, but there was a stronger feeling of relief. For the first time since I began traveling abroad in 2010, I didn’t want to go anywhere. I didn’t want to leave home. It felt as if my whole identity was crumbling. If I'm not a world traveler, then who am I?
But as I was able to reflect, I could see this moment had been coming. Perhaps it’s something that comes with age. Perhaps it’s being at a point in my journey where I feel with intensity the finite nature of life. I’ve accepted that it is fully realistic that myself or someone I love will not be alive this time tomorrow. And I just don’t want to go away for extended periods of time anymore.
For the first time in my life I feel rooted. Over the more than a decade of wandering, I’ve found me. And because of that, I believe that myself and my little community, the people who mean more to me than anything, we’ve all found each other. And I don’t want to leave.
I’m embracing the change. I’m happy for the change. This is the next step in being me. What about you? Is there a change you’re fighting? Is there a change you see coming on the horizon? I’d love to hear about it. It’s nice to know that we're not alone when we experience something unfamiliar.
Until next month,
Jake
Ps. Don’t worry. I’m not done traveling, and I’m not done taking long walks. I’m just redefining the way I go about it, focusing on what serves me now and makes me happy. Big adventures are still on the horizon!