When I was little, I used to have terrible nightmares. They were so bad that I hated going to sleep. I would dangle off the side of my bunk after my parents put me to bed and read books from the light in the hallway that I hoped would be happy enough to chase away the monsters I would otherwise dream about. I would obsess over escape routes from each room of my house, deciding where I would run to if I managed to make it out the window. I would toss and turn for hours on end until I finally exhausted myself enough that I fell into a restless sleep.
At some point though, things changed. I got a little older, we moved, I got a puppy. Somewhere along the line, I started to accept that I simply couldn’t prepare for every catastrophe and then I started to dream about flying. In my dreams, I would go to my living room and jump off the couch or run down the length of my backyard and leap into the air. Just like that, I left the monsters behind. The sensation of flying was so liberating and so addictive that I never wanted to wake up. When I did, the loss I felt was almost tangible, and more than once I would go to my living room and jump off the couch, needing to fall on the floor a couple times before I could accept that my dream wasn’t reality.
That love of flying has never left me. For me, as for many others, flying means freedom –to be free from gravity, from the weight of obligation and responsibility, from the confines of the real world, from the monsters lurking under the bed.
And so it is with travel. Through travel I have been able to see new sights, escape the routine of daily life and experience the world around me in a completely different way. During those few brief moments of take-off, I have even been able to taste, if only for a moment, the pure exhilaration of flight.
This is my travel blog. It is a record of my thoughts as I skirt around the world, chasing that dream of freedom I haven’t yet abandoned.