Travel consumes me. With my passport in one hand and my journal in the other, I've crossed five continents, fifty countries and forty-five states. I memorize airport codes like a boy memorizes batting-averages. I have backpacked from Chile to Canada, from Ireland and Istanbul. I drove cross-county twice, stopping for roadside diners, banjo medleys and the world's largest ball of yarn. I rafted in the Rockies, barbequed in Boston, soul-searched in Santa Fe and flip-flopped in Florida. I love to travel. I have cruised the Caribbean and rested at the Ritz, trekked the Great Wall and seen the Taj Mahal. I even got my kicks on Route 66. it's stimulation that Nintendo can't sell and Starbucks can't pour.
Until recently, I endured sedentary hours in a mouse-grey cubical, working a sales job, a chore, a solution to my bills. The recession changed that. I took my severance check and ran - past the bank and straight to the airport. Solo, I explored Central America, from Panama to Belize. In Guatemala, I bought meals through bus windows and toasted marshmallows on lava. In Costa Rica, I befriended the locals and ate termites off trees. Working with a charity, I built houses for the poor and slept on the sand. My income is minimal, my future uncertain, but my passion is pure.
I've never received a 'penny for my thoughts,' or a dollar for my words, but I'm a travel writer at heart. Send me to a region with more letters in its name than ATMs in its towns. I don't care if my legs read like Braille from jungle mosquitoes. I don't want to keep my home fires burning. I am a Woman on My Way, compelled to live the story and share it with those at home who sit in armchairs waiting.
I've never received a 'penny for my thoughts,' or a dollar for my words, but I'm a travel writer at heart. Send me to a region with more letters in its name than ATMs in its towns. I don't care if my legs read like Braille from jungle mosquitoes. I don't want to keep my home fires burning. I am a Woman on My Way, compelled to live the story and share it with those at home who sit in armchairs waiting.
