I got off the phone with you today and I could feel your sadness. Even worse, I could feel the sadness I have caused you. Mom, I love you, but I can’t be what you want me to be. I have dreams, and for once in my life, I don’t feel lost.

“What are you doing this summer?” you asked.

“Going to Germany and then I have some time off before going to Basic Camp,” I said. Silence. “Then I’m going down to Florida and hopefully getting a job,” I added.

We both knew I was lying.

“So you’re not going to be traveling?” you asked, knowing the answer.

See, you and I are different in that way. You take comfort in the things you know, and I in the things that I don’t. I like waking up in new cities and exploring places social media can’t photoshop. I like to take pictures with my memory, soaking up all the details, and talking to people I will never see again. I am your daughter, but I am a wonderer first.

I am not meant to stay in one place. I no longer feel sorry for craving the world more than I crave stability. I gave stability a try and it ended up tearing me apart from head to core. Never again will I be that vulnerable, and if I am, it will not be my true self. I am meant to travel.

I am meant to see things most people don’t want to see. I am meant to feel the things most people spend their entire life trying to numb. I am meant to help those whose burdens are so great, they would bring most people to their knees. I am meant to live a life that you may never understand.

So this is just a letter in which I apologize in advance. For being me, and seeking danger. For keeping you up at night wondering where I am and if I’m safe. For always wanting to go places, not really knowing where. For seeking experiences that I will have to endure on my own because you cannot guide me. But above all, for never being home.

Mom: You always told me that I was meant to do great things and maybe I believed you a little too much. But here I am trying to be the best me that I can be because you stirred that in me. I know there are obstacles that prevent us from being close, but I love you from afar.

Dad: Thank you for teaching me to be silly. I got that from you. You always made spoofs of songs and used to tell me you would come to my school and sing in front of all my friends. Thank you for never doing that!

But now I am nineteen and I am about to make some choices you did not have the opportunity to, and it would go against everything you guys taught me if I didn’t take my risks.