all the space in the world
After the tragic loss of my Dad, I felt called to travel. It’s a hard thing to explain to someone who hasn’t experienced it. But every fiber in my body teamed up to tell me what to do. And so I listened. I got on the plane.
Dad made traveling a priority and he brought our whole family on some amazing trips, but being the youngest, I got to squeeze in a few extra special trips with him. Like the time we went on a multi-day tour through Yellowstone National Park on snowmobiles. I was 16 years old, tearing through the majestic park, riding as close as 4 feet away from bison. He was an adventure seeker, and I inherited his gene.
Me and Dad in Yellowstone National Park
In times of pain, some people shut down and close themselves off to the world. I chose the opposite. I chose to open up my heart and eyes to the entire world. Instead of deciding that life is bad, I decided to remind myself all of the ways this life is good. I chose and continue to choose to soak in as much as I possibly can, in honor of my Dad, the way he always did.
Dad making new friends during his tour of South East Asia
I also acknowledge that I was working through my grief. I was giving myself all the space in the world (quite literally) to explore how I felt, what this loss meant, and what I would do with this new dull ache that lived inside my body.
On the road, some days are sad days. I could be in a pigeon pose, listening to the crashing waves of the Indian Ocean in an open air yoga studio, and I have tears rolling down my cheeks. And in those moments, I let myself be sad. And other times, I find myself laughing with new friends in a fruit stand on the side of the road, or holding a Norwegian toddler who hopped into my arms, clearly forgetting all lessons about stranger danger!
That’s the thing about travel and grief- you never know what's going to come next. And you can decide to be afraid and stay stuck in that one place, or you can acknowledge the hard parts, and choose to keep going.
Driving Dad on Lake Winnipesaukee.
