"When I go to sleep, I can't count sheep for the white lines in my head" --Bruce Springsteen

Let’s imagine, for a moment, that I prioritize travel. 

I’m actively silencing the voices that say “it’s too expensive” or “that’s not for you.” 

Why the hell not? Why not take the extra $1,000 that sometimes comes in from a well-paid gig and go explore some part of the world? 

Granted, right now I’m prioritizing raising funds for my intimacy direction certification program, and I will always have bills to pay. But I’m daring myself to ask “What would it look like if I prioritized exploring the world?” 

I’m also actively silencing any voices that come from outside of myself, about the dangers of traveling alone. I’m not really worried. Our world looks less like that dumb dumb movie “Taken” than people think, and I’m confident in my ability to navigate potentially dangerous situations safely. (Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I am. *shrug*) 

I also have no qualms about navigating a new city or transportation system by myself, figuring out where to eat, or getting lonely. I’m an introvert and homebody at heart, and most of the things I’d want to do in a foreign place are things that can be done alone–read, wander, eat, write. 

(That said, if anyone I love wants to join me, let’s make plans! We’ll go out dancing!) 

I’ve had wanderlust for a few weeks now. Maybe even months. But I picked up a copy of National Geographic labeled “100 Unforgettable Destinations” and now I’m revisiting my globe-trotter Pinterest board and making lists. 

Amsterdam. 

I’ll bring my tattered copy of “Anne Frank” and my own journal when I visit the place that feels so familiar to me already, see the location of a story that has informed so much of my life. 

Paris. 

An airbnb will probably be cheaper by the month. I’ll find some little place and walk to marketplaces every few days to buy food, sit at cafes and write, visit museums. I’ll eat at an outdoor table with a book in my hands. 

Tahiti. Or Bora Bora? Someplace tropical. 

Because for some reason, I just assume that tropical locations are not for plebes like me? But I don’t need an all-inclusive White Lotus resort experience. Just sun and sand and sea. 

Machu Picchu. 

Apparently it’s a whole-ass PROCESS to get there. But I bet it would be worth it. I’ll stop by the salt flats in Bolivia while I’m nearby. Swing up to the pyramid of Chichen Itza. 

Egypt. 

The pyramids at Giza. Hapshetsut’s palace. Amarna. Karnak. They’ve held me in thrall for as long as I can remember. It seems absurd that I wouldn’t visit them in person at least once. 

England. 

Plays at the West End, and a trip to Stratford-upon-Avon. A pilgrimage for the hopeless theatre kid I am. 

But while I make all these plans, it’s been deeply fulfilling to think back to all of the magical traveling I have gotten to do. Through the generosity of family and friends and happy sets of circumstances, I’ve been able to explore more corners of the earth than some people get to do in their lifetimes. (And I've gotten to do it all with some incredible people!)

I’ve eaten Black Forest gateau in the actual Black Forest of Germany, and explored the fairytale castle of Neuschwanstein, wandered the cobbled streets of towns centuries old.

I’ve strolled the National Mall and wandered past Ford’s theatre, walked through the museum of the home where Lincoln died. 

I’ve snorkeled in Hawai’i and Mexico.  

I’ve climbed ancient ruins in Belize and walked beaches in El Salvador. 

I’ve explored the ruins of ancient Greece, where I ran a footrace in Olympia, had a philosophical discussion in Athens, wandered the alleys of Pompeii, spoke the words of Sophocles’ “Oedipus Rex” at the ancient theatre Dionysus. 

I’ve wandered past Italian families playing soccer on Sunday afternoons to get to the Coliseum in Rome, and I’ve taken a train through Tuscany to stand before Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus” in Florence. I’ve eaten pizza in Naples. 

I’ve walked through the maze of the Grand Bazaar and slipped my shoes off to enter the Hagia Sophia in Instanbul. 

I’ve wandered the French Quarter of New Orleans, jazz music pouring out from every open door, a new pack of tarot cards in my purse. 

I’ve looked up at the Redwoods and looked down into Crater Lake. I’ve hiked slot canyons and hoodoos in southern Utah, and looked up at the stars from the waters of Leigh Lake in Grand Teton National Park. I’ve spent entire summers in Yellowstone. 

I’ve taken a ferry across the San Francisco Bay and taken an elevator to the top of the Empire State Building. 

When I list it out like this, I feel astonishingly lucky. 

So I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, listening to some weird voice that says traveling isn’t for me. It clearly already is for me. I just have to ask myself what it looks like when I make it a priority, instead of something I do when others invite me.  

I guess we’ll find out.