“I’m not on vacation…
I’m traveling for a year.”

“Why?” asks every new face.

That simple question begs for a much more complex answer – one that I’m not even sure I’ve answered for myself. Suppressing my urge to mischievously dodge the question with a smirk and a “why not?” I reply by attempting to break down the series of decisions that brought me to conclude, “why not,” to my own question of “why?”

The first urges of my wanderlust began with the stereotypical desire to travel the world, that wish-I-could-do-that fantasy that never gets any closer than years of flipping through in-flight magazines and getting lost in Jetsetter daydreams of exotic escapes. Those dreams of giving in to the glossy sunsets and saturated beachscapes evaporated as quickly as my bank account. I kept forgoing world adventures with the excuse of not being able to afford it, yet I knew that there are plenty of ways to travel cheaply. The other excuses of getting time off of work, what to do with all of my stuff, the inherent fear of the unknown (especially foreign toilets), and the intimidation of “starting over” when I come back, anchored me to my desk.

Saying, “why not,” would involve quitting my job, packing up my entire life, my entire apartment, that ever-growing collection of objects, damn-near everything I’ve ever owned since I was kicked out of my home at seventeen (that’s a story for another time). My apartment, which had become a sort of playhouse museum, stuffed into box after box. It took a massive amount of energy to compress the entropy of Apartment 4Ever into a singularity. I now understand why they call it your “nuclear” family.

After seven straight days of packing, less than 30 hours of sleep, multiple trips to our friends James and Selena’s attic in Long Island, pulling into the storage unit with a little over fifteen minutes to spare before the gate locked for the night, unloading the overflowing 17’ U-Haul in 2.5 hours with Serkan and Jordan, filling the 10×10 unit to the ceiling, packing our bags (for the first time) and finishing the last of the apartment repairs and cleaning the day of our flight, we collapsed sore – so sore our fingertips hurt – into our economy 16 hour leg to Taipei.

None of this would be possible without the help and generosity of our amazing chosen and real family. Overwhelming thanks and gratitude to (by order of operations) Eric, Malika, James, Selena, Serkan, Chase, Jordan, Anna, Judah, Shiny, Michelle, Stitch, Don, Patrick, Michael, Allyson, Jennie, Edgar, and Maia for helping with the move and the moving on.

Gratitude to all of the rest of you too for inspiring and supporting us in all ways.

I took the middle seat, my least favorite place to sit (I love you, Alex Alex), with Girl Alex on my left in the aisle seat (I love you soooo much…) and our new friend, Tom, on my right in the coveted window seat. Tom was on a last-minute business trip to Taiwan and shared in our exhaustion. Slumping into his wrinkle-proof business casual, a longing for Connecticut glazing his tired eyes, he sleepily lamented traveling without his partner (he hates the possessiveness of “my wife”). I recognized then from my gypsy-punk- scarf nest that Tom and I shared more than our exhaustion – we share a deep love and longing for our (also Ukranian!) partners.

Re-fed, refreshed, and reconnected, we headed over to the Hello Kitty gate for our connection to Manila. Coming from New York City left us with no desire to stay in Manila, another sprawling urban center, which meant another flight. We found ourselves with just enough time for a bus transfer to Terminal 4, a weaving ride across the tarmac, to fly to Coron Town.

28 hours of door-to-door transit later, we landed in a shoebox of a room at Sea Dive Inn, featuring an ocean view through gaps in the slatted floor (I commit thee to the sea 4 gauge earring that I stupidly didn’t pack a backup pair of), a stunning, close-up view of a concrete wall through the lone window, and a queen-sized bed which was actually two twin beds screwed together – mind the gap. We did not heed the advice of my sister-in-law, Anna. We did not land softly. Sadly we were too exhausted to admire the view for long and we passed out, cuddled across the gap.

Our cheap accommodations emphasized the “not” part of my “why not” and lying in it’s bolded shadow was still a “why,” snaked in repeating question marks. Why did I leave every comfort I’ve known, all the friends I’ve made, the new family I’ve found, the career I’ve been building, and the home I’ve created – a home to many nomads – to become a nomad myself? Am I acting impulsively? Am I being irresponsible? Am I crazy?

“Noooo. Noooo. Noooo. It ain’t me, babe.”

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBHXUOogpOg)

As far as I know, I only have one life to live and I’m going to live it. I don’t want to waste it chasing the “American Dream” or some other arbitrary benchmark of success. That life ain’t meeeeee, babe. I want to be happy. I want other people to be happy. I want to understand what makes them happy and help them be happy. I want to make things better, even if by just a little bit. Fueled by that passion – and a few mimosas – the first thing I drew on the Napkin of Choice – our attempt to organize all our what’s – was a globe. Girl Alex and I then proceeded to sketch out the rest of our choices and start to ask ourselves “why?”