The Journey

Photo by Willian Justen de Vasconcellos on Unsplash

 "Where's your next trip?"

It's a question I've never tired of answering. And to be honest, it was a welcomed change in conversation that previously focused on my relationship status - or lack thereof - the majority of my 20s. But by my 30s, I had steadily changed my identity and people stopped asking about the boyfriend I never seemed to have and instead, wanted to know what country I'd chosen to experience next.

The journey of reshaping how the world saw me, and more importantly, how I saw myself was a long one. And in true form, it was unconventional, to say the least.

I arrived in Seattle with a one-way ticket, two stamps in my passport, three checked bags marked "heavy" and no place to live. Up until that point, the only home I had known had been Iowa with most of my time spent in a small town of 3000 people and one stoplight. It was February 1st, 2012, an arguably terrible time to move to the notoriously dreary city. But with next to no friends and a brand-new job, the weather was the least of my concerns.

At the top of the list of major concerns, however, was the fact I was 1) sleeping on a blow-up mattress in the living room of a girl named Brianne, a near stranger who I had met one time before and 2) was now residing in a city I had visited only twice before and was fairly out of my element.

How exactly did I arrive here?

To start, I applied for a job to relocate away from Iowa, and more specifically, my ex. I was open to a fresh start and Seattle was one of the options. So, in November of 2011, I had traveled to the Pacific Northwest (PNW) to check it out and make sure I was comfortable moving to the city completely on my own.

I had hated it. I hated the rain, the unfamiliarity, how huge it all was; each neighborhood blending into the next - Lower Queen Anne, Cap Hill, Green Lake, Alki Beach - I couldn't make sense of it all. But when they offered me the role, I took it anyway. The Seattle north rep who had moved there from Iowa as well, by way of Wyoming, spent weeks convincing me I'd love it. I was skeptical, but the relocation commitment was only two years.

I could make it two years.

And that's how I came to be sitting in West Seattle, waiting for a table in a local restaurant in the city I was hating on a rainy November night, caught up in my thoughts about if I could really make the leap. It was at that moment when I was nearing the end of my trip that I realized a couple was waiting for a table as well. I scooted down and offered them a seat on the bench I was on, making small talk as I shared I was considering a relocation to the area with the two strangers now sitting next to me.

We later exchanged numbers and after I accepted the position and traveled out again in January, I met up with them for dinner and was introduced to their friend Brianne. She was heading to India for a month and was looking for someone to watch her dog. I offered to take care of him in exchange for a place to live; giving me the opportunity to explore the neighborhoods and find an apartment. Things fell into place, and her friend Ben eventually crashed there too, and I had a (platonic) partner in crime to make the transition less lonely.

That summer Ben introduced to me a girl named Marlyce and within a matter of weeks, she mentioned casually she was planning to go to Machu Picchu that Thanksgiving with a friend, and I should join.

 Facts: I didn't even know how to spell Machu Picchu, nor did I have the faintest clue what country (or continent, for that matter) it was located in. I would spell it "Manchu Picchu" for months to come and I'm not sure when I even registered it was in South America.

I just knew it was some place I'd never been, and I had an invite to travel and experience it.

So I did.

I joined Marlyce and her friend I'd never met, and after trusting her to book flights and writing her a check, I bought a $200 Deuter 55-liter pack that I still have to this day. And I took my first steps toward my unrealized dream that would lead me to stand on all seven continents in the next seven years.

It was the first trip of many that would begin to change me, some smaller and less impactful, and others connecting me with a person who, or experience that, would alter who I was and shape who I was becoming.

On that trip I carried a 30-pound back for miles on end for three straight days. I hiked up Dead Woman's Pass, an elevation of 13,828 feet. I would crouch over holes to use the restroom; my legs shaking and unsteady from the weight of my pack being carried across the terrain for so many miles.

I shared a tent with a complete stranger - a male a few years younger than me from Kansas City. As we awkwardly set up our tent, he settled in and pulled out his book, so I followed suit and I pulled out mine. I nervously glanced over to see what he was reading and realized we were reading the same book. A small sign that it was going to be okay and a friendship bloomed soon after.

We endured rain and grey skies and sunny days, passing alpacas along the way and taking countless pictures. The porters would hike past us each day, in their ill-fitting black sandals, while some hiked barefoot. They would set up our camp and cook each meal and no food tasted better than when we arrived for lunch and devoured their meals, which were followed by "fake siestas" (a time to rest and let your food settle). At night they set up our tents and made our dinner as we huddled around a long table in a tent together as the sun sank below the horizon and the stars came out.

After the day of 3000 stairs, we rested for our final night of camping before we awoke at 3 AM on Day Four to hike the last couple of hours to be the first to enter Machu Picchu when it opened at 6 AM. There are only 3 ways to access Machu Picchu - hiking in, taking the train, or arriving by helicopter for a quoted price at the time of $900. Only 500 permits are sold to hike Machu Picchu each day to preserve the lands, but if you can secure one and are willing to hike in the black of night to arrive at the gate and wait, you get to experience an hour of Machu Picchu with a much smaller group before the train arrives and hundreds of people flood the site.

That hour of peace … that hour of still and seeing alpacas lazily walking through the 15th-century Inca citadel with the walls built in such a way the stones are cut to fit perfectly together without mortar, our guide showing us cracks so fine not even a piece of paper could slip through- it's still sharp in my mind. I replay in my mind wandering through the maze of stone, not fully grasping what I was seeing as I posed for pictures tired and unshowered, but beaming.

I took a deep breath, humbled that a girl raised with cornfields in her backyard was experiencing a part of the world she'd never even knew existed growing up.

“I took a deep breath, humbled that a girl raised with cornfields in her backyard was experiencing a part of the world she’d never even knew existed growing up.”

Hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu was an incredible experience. Arriving there - the history - the wonder of it all, it was truly powerful.

But that trip was the first time I really understood what it meant when Ralph Waldo Emerson famously said it's not always the destination that matters, but the journey. Every step of that hike; bonding with people on my tour from all over the world; the guide who I still am connected with to this day (Hi Santiago!); the people I met and went on to experience more trips with (Hi Jay and Angie and Ben!).

And when I really thought about it, when I thought about how I even came to be there in the first place... A series of big and small decisions, hellos to strangers, being 'homeless' for a month, faith in a new friend, and blind optimism to embrace an opportunity in front of me - I realized the journey that got me there was beautiful. 

Sometimes I wonder if that will be what it’s like if I do ever get married. It’s going to be wonderful. It’s going to be really great. To finally arrive at finding my person to experience life with will be incredible.

But I wonder if I'll look back at that point and realize just how amazing the journey was to get there actually was once it’s in full view.