I am just going to preface this article with a comment. I already wrote this once. And, for good measure, I'll add in some sage advice. When writing, always save your work before hitting refresh.
Moving on, travel is a blessing. It teaches you about different walks of life and lets you see first hand how different people live their lives. It gives you a broader, more open view of the issues plaguing our society. I believe there to be four kinds of travel. I shall describe them.
One: for family. My father's entire side of the family lives in England, namely the south of it. Ever since I was four months old and it was safe for me to fly, my parents and I have gone across the pond every year at least once to visit. Except last summer. Last summer, because of scheduling conflicts, we missed our annual visit. It felt strange, not seeing my cousins and how much they had grown over the last year. It felt odd not telling my aunt and uncle about what I had been doing in and out of school. I missed not seeing the ridiculous adventures of my little cousins and listening to their adorable British accents.
Two: with family. These are better described as family vacations. This is where you, your siblings, and parents all go in a car or on a plane to somewhere far away to forget about school and work for a week or two. My parents and I used to do these kinds of trips when I was younger. Of late, we simply tack on a few days at the end of visiting my father's family to stay on the grounds of a British castle or take the Chunnel across to Paris so I can practice my French and my mother can enjoy their croissants and espresso. I don't miss the traditional trips because, if we did those, we'd have to miss seeing our family.
Three: camp. This category of travel is exclusive to sleep-away camps. For the last eight or nine summers, I have done some sort of sleep-away camp, always involving something in the wilderness. The first few summers I just dipped my toes in the water and let my eight-year-old self get used to being away from my parents. And I fell in love with that kind of camp. These last three years, the camps I've done have been on a different level entirely. I have hiked deep in bear country in the Wyoming Absaroka Mountain Range. I have sailed from southern Maine to Acadia National Park and back again on a wooden boat more or less exposed to the elements. I have become a certified scuba diver in the Caribbean. This is my favorite kind of travel.
Four: solo. The first time I traveled by myself was last summer on my way to dive the Caribbean. My parents dropped me off at the airport and waved goodbye. I thought that by simple virtue of the fact that I was alone, the experience of flying would be fundamentally changed. It wasn't. The crew acted towards me as they always did and the flight was uneventful as usual. It was...usual. The main thing I noted to be different was how I carried myself. When I'm with my parents traveling, I stand tall and I confidently guide them through the airport to our gate. I didn't do that. I was meeker than I'm used to being and I walked with doubt slowing my steps. It was quite different from what I had grown used to.
I know how fortunate I am to be able to live this kind of life, to be able to travel as freely as I do. I cherish it. I intend to take full advantage of the resources at my disposal for as long as I can because I know that there are a lot of people who can't do what I do. I want to see the world. I want to live my life as fully as I can for as long as I can because anything can happen. Tomorrow, I might not be able to travel so I want to do it today. That being said, however, I feel certain that travel will also be a central part of my life. It's one of my great loves, after all.
