The post Deep Breaths first appeared on OliverTheWorld.
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“So, are you ready?” My father asked me this question two nights ago as he collapsed into the couch next to me. My nose was pressed into a map of Iceland, where I had been uttering low guttural sounds in various attempts to pronounce the names of small towns along the Ring Road. With an open Sam Adams in his hand, the haze of another long day in the office began to lift from his eyes and my father tilted his head wryly to one side. I could tell by the intonation in his voice that he half-expected me to fall to the floor, groaning under the weight of his words. I was, after all, scheduled to be a plane in less than four days time, which would mark the beginning of an open-ended trip across Europe, Russia, the Middle East, Central and South America with my husband and two young children.
I’ll admit, when asked about our upcoming travels, rolling on the floor was something I was known to do, of late. Rather than confront the reality of what was ahead of us, I frequently deflected outsiders’ inquiries, believing that an outward show of vulnerability somehow humanized us, made others understand that what we were about to set forth on was not a matter we were taking lightly, indeed. And sometimes I actually believed that act. Sometimes I let myself feel afraid.
***
My husband Ryan and I returned to the United States in August 2010 after a year of backpacking in Asia with our then two-year old son. I was newly pregnant with our second child, and we set about reassembling our lives in our little Southern California home, enrolling in preschool, reconnecting with friends and family, pretty much picking up life where it had been left off. Only, things were different. We had returned from China, Nepal, India, Japan, Indonesia, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Australia, New Zealand and Fiji. We had the stamps to prove that we had come and gone, along with photos and small traces of our experiences while in faraway places. We were home again, safe and sound, full of strange and wonderful stories and thankful for the familiarity of our own beds. But something was not as it should be.
How clichéd, we thought. Typical how the traveller returns home only to find himself no longer suited to the life he once knew, and therefore is quick to return to the road. We acknowledged that this could be the feeling that had settled over us, so we did just as that traveller would do, and in January, at the beginning of my second trimester, we left. We drove north on the Pacific Coast Highway, up the Central Coast and Big Sur through to San Francisco. We turned east and spent the remainder of the month in Yosemite, Sequoia and Death Valley, and then took a turn through all of Southern Utah’s national parks. By March, we had cut sharply through Colorado and New Mexico and returned to California through the Painted Desert and the Grand Canyon.
One night on the Colorado Plateau, Ryan and I made a promise to each other. Some time in the following year, we promised to start over in another part of the world; we would again try on the skins of other countries and their cultures. It was late, we still had not checked into a room for the night and Ollie had long since fallen asleep in the backseat of our car, his Junior Ranger hat pulled low over his eyes. Hours earlier, he had scurried over boulders scattered throughout a gorge in Capitol Reef National Park in search of collared lizards. I had read to him the notes pioneers had carved into the canyon walls as they passed through in the early 19th century. We were both tired, but in a good way.
“You know… I really believe this is who we are.” Ryan said, staring out past the reach of our headlights. “Out here is where we belong”.
***
Ideological epiphany aside, once we made the decision to travel open-endedly, Ryan and I very soon found ourselves confronting some gargantuan logistics. Planning this endeavor proved not for the faint of heart, particularly considering that we were now four in number, and that our newest family member was as onerous to deal with as, well… a newborn baby.

Between the diapers and night feedings, the baby-proofing and newly-minted sibling rivalry, we somehow managed to rent out our home for two years, streamline all of our business dealings, and dissolve nearly every single one of our worldly possessions down to only those which could be packed in two 100L rolling duffels. Various homeschooling/unschooling books were consulted, toys were packed off to Goodwill, cars were sold. Decoupling a conventional Southern Californian life for a family of four was painstaking achieved over the span of six months. With the help of very good and well-connected friends, we procured Italian visas that would allow us to remain in the Schengan for an uninterrupted year. At long last, the date was set. We would fly on August 1st.
***
Fast-forward to July 28th. My father’s eyebrows begged the question again, and again, I was silent. Were we ready? Was I ready? So many questions remained, so many loose ends kept me awake each night long into the early hours of the morning.
“No,” I answered with a long breath. “But we’ll be just fine”.
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By a Slightly Petrified Ryan
Don’t get me wrong. As I sit here, I feel very blessed that we have the opportunity to travel and see the world for the next 11 months. That said, for the past week I have been wracked with the kind of anxiety that makes a person’s stomach feel as if it’s being turned inside out and their brain set to a high speed spin cycle. Lately, I find myself panting more often than I care to admit.
Am I nervous because our two year old son is more destructive than a tornado? NO QUESTION.
Am I scared that I will not get a good night sleep for a year as Ollie thrashes around like a school of piranhas in a bed all three of us will share? CLEARLY.
Am I on edge that I have had a recurring stomach pain for years and that I will probably require diaper changes more often than Ollie? CERTAINLY.
Am I a little off because I made the decision not to get life insurance on my wife? YES, AS THERE ARE ABOUT 3 MILLION MORE REASONS FOR HER TO LEAVE ME STRANDED ON A STREET CORNER IN NEW DELI THAN VICE VERSA.
Do the constant questions/concerns from family and friends have me thinking a little more than usual? ABSOLUTELY and YES WE HAVE A TRACKING SYSTEM FOR OLLIE (thank you Olivia and Dan), A HARNESS AND LEASH (anything more could only be found at a pet store that services wild boars), and AN IDENTIFICATION BRACELET THAT WOULD MAKE THE ARMED FORCES PROUD.
Does the fact that I have been sober for almost 32 months weigh on me as I will have to re-construct the people, places and things that have helped in my recovery thus far? THIS IS ON MY MIND OFTEN AS MY SOBRIETY IS THE THING (BESIDES EMILY AND OLLIE) IN MY LIFE THAT I VALUE THE MOST.
The list could go on and on. So at this juncture I must reflect and ask myself, “how did I get in this predicament?” Well, for all of you men out there that are married to women like my Emy who suffer from a rare form of early on-set dementia (Dory in Finding Nemo has a better short-term memory than she does), my condolences in advance. While Emy/Dory can’t remember the mundane things, she vividly recalls a conversation we had three years ago (yes, I was still drinking at the time) when I told her that I wanted to pick up and travel the world. Clearly, I have only myself to blame, as on this particular date, I must have been trying a little too hard to win her over (and no, this night did not lead to the gift that keeps on giving, aka Ollie).
What can I do? The plane tickets are paid for, the travel insurance purchased, our house has been rented, the rabies shots have been administered, and Olivertheworld is alive and well. All I can do now is sit and reflect on what might have been. There is absolutely no question in my mind that it would have been much easier (and cheaper) to buy Emy the mini-donkey that she has always wanted or even install a petting farm in our backyard.
As I bring this to a close, I am constantly reminded of what I have learned over the past 32 months. By the grace of God, I have been given a gift and this gift has to be enjoyed and cherished one day at a time. A prayer comes to mind that I say to myself quite often and has gotten me through situations that will likely prove much more difficult than a 17 hour bus ride through the South of India. . . . .
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (the fact the three-ringed circus is leaving town on Monday)…
The courage to change the things I can (the amount of Benadryl I will have Ollie choke down on our 16 hour flight to Japan)…
And the wisdom to know the difference (when I cancel the three night hostel stay and upgrade the Bad News Bears to a 2-star hotel with a working shower).
While there is no question that Emy and I are totally nuts, I love my life and feel eternally grateful for all that I have been given. Afterall, for 13 years I was chained to a desk and had absolutely no perspective or balance.
I will take the anxiety any day as at least today I know that I am alive.
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I read the other day that backpackers tend to suffer from two afflictions more so than from anything else. The first is the inevitable traveller’s diarrhea (aka Delhi Belly, Rangoon Runs, Tokyo Trots, Montezuma’s Revenge, etc), for which we have enough ciprofloxacin, azithromycin and loperamide to plug a hole in the Hoover Dam. The second ailment seems so much more sinister to me, perhaps due to its being orthopedic in nature, or that it conjures images of spasming nerves and me lying prostrate in a city street, writhing in pain. A herniated disc!
All things considered, I’ve had enough sciatic nerve pain from my third trimester with Oliver to last me a lifetime, so I have resolved to make this simple for Ryan and I. We are traveling light. Throughout the next couple of posts, I will attempt to describe how we’ve settled/are settling on what will make the cut for our upcoming year on the road. First, the clothes!
Em’s Stuff
2 pairs butt-flattering convertible pants
1 pair Puma sweatpants
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Please accept my apology when I tell you that I haven’t channeled a writerly thought in now nearly a decade. In fact, it is with distinct physical discomfort that I sit alone tonight, in the darkened kitchen nearing 2AM, banging away at this keyboard in what is now my seventh effort to get this damned blog (guttural moaning) off the ground and onto the screen.
But rest assured, I feel I have a good enough reason for putting myself through all this in the first place. In exactly 31 days, my husband, Ryan, and I will lock up the house, strap on packs and jet off across the Pacific for Tokyo, where we will begin nearly a year-long voyage all around the Eastern Hemisphere. August 2009 Japan-China-Vietnam-Cambodia-Thailand-Laos-Nepal-India-Singapore-Indonesia-Australia-New Zealand-Fiji June 2010. Even with the countless months of preparation that have already been logged, this is undoubtedly the most ambitious backpacking adventure I’ve ever undertaken. And for his part, Ryan’s prior travel experience by and large consists of tent-camping with his parents 20 years ago, followed by the five-star hotels of his former career as a Wall Street research analyst.
And then of course there’s the Ollie-factor. Our son, Oliver, two-years old on August 2nd, will be riding shotgun all the way.
So here it is. The most efficient mode of communication I could dream up to chronicle this period of our lives. Want to see if a rambunctious two-year old can ride a camel with the best of them in Rajasthan? How about what a ryokan (traditional Japanese-style lodging, characterized by paper walls) looks like after Hurricane Rauch passes through? Stay tuned, folks.
The question remains: why? Why indeed? As Baudelaire once said, the ‘true travellers are those who leave for the sake of leaving itself…and who, without knowing why, are always saying: Let’s go!”
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