A Crisis of Wanderlust

My friend, Janice, who has become my guardian angel here, called last night while I was in the middle of watching a movie.

"Are you crying? Why are you crying? What are you watching?" she asked.

"The Bucket List," I responded.

"Yeah, I know that one...Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson doing everything they wished that they could do when they were living but are now doing when they are facing death...that one, right?" she confirmed.

Yep, that one.

"So why are you crying? You, above the rest of us, have lived the 'Bucket List' while you're still alive so why the tears?" she insisted.


"Do you think I am selfish? I was watching all of the places the Freeman and Nicholson go in that movie and thinking, 'been there, been there, too.' Do you think that I travel so much makes me selfish? Do you think I am going to run out of places to see and end up wandering around Central Park in ten years feeling lost?" I asked, feeling incredibly stupid.

"Nah, that's what you do...you travel. That's your thing. You also date people who are close to death all the time and you put yourself in situations that most of us wouldn't....but that's just you...you've gotta accept that about yourself at some point or another. Plus, you always have amazing stories...would you have those to tell or to write about if you didn't travel like you do?"

It is truly wonderful having an existential crisis at the age of 34.

I came back from the U.S. last Tuesday to realize that my job required me to be in Northern Uganda within 18 hours to give a speech, moderate a panel, and give my own presentation. My boyfriend, Scott, has just deployed to Iraq yesterday. I had a fight with my mother, my best friend, the last day I was in the States and I still cannot get over it. I miss my brother, who I have never known completely sober until now, and I wonder constantly if I am doing the right thing.


After my talk on Friday in Lira, Northern Uganda, a bunch of folks came up to me and said, "You speak from your heart, that was one of the most refreshing speeches we have ever heard. Thank you for you honesty."


But...am I honest? Does anyone know that I miss my Mom so bad it hurts? Does anyone know that I have never spent more than five days with my boyfriend alone before one of our commitments took us somewhere else? Does anyone know that I used to be terrified to speak in front of people and only, over the past two years, have found my voice, but that I still shake and pray up until the last second?


Does anyone know that I live the "bucket list" because I can? That travel gives me pleasure beyond anything else? That when faced with buying an essential item, such as a couch or bed, I willingly forgo them to go to Costa Rica or Thailand? Isn't there something wrong about that?


My mom said to me, last week, after us both finding out that I had been renewed on a grant to stay in Uganda for another year..."You have got to stop the travel now. You have got to save money."


She said I looked at her with the devil in my eye.


She's right. I need to save money and stop considering my salary as a plane ticket all the time.

I have been very lucky over the past five years or so...I have worked for people and organizations that pay me well and treat me with an amazing amount of respect. But what do I do with my salary? I buy plane tickets. I spend all of my free time on TripAdvisor.com trying to decide where to go next and what to see and do. I spend hours cajoling my friends into coming with me to some godforsaken place like the Democratic Republic of Congo or Eritrea.

True, I have managed to put a significant dent in my debts while here but have I saved money? No. Not even a penny really.

I stopped subscribing to or reading Oprah's magazine because Suze Orman's column on "wise investing" would send me into panic attacks about just how "unwise" I truly have been over the past five years. Suze never, ever tells her readers to take that extra $1000 and go to Zanzibar, that is for sure...

So what is my problem?

"When you were born," my mother says, "your great-grandmother took one look at you and declared you a Gypsy. She could barely speak a word of English but, like you, she had incredible wanderlust which is what brought her from her village in Italy to the U.S. If she had the means, she would have traveled the world...so she knew a fellow Gypsy when she saw one..."

"But still, Patti, you need to stay grounded for the next year. Save your money! You've already seen a lot of the world, take the time to invest in your future over the next year...especially in this economy!"

Janice called this morning to ask me to come with her to look at cars. I declined, saying I had jet lag.

"Oh for Christ's sake...are you still having a 'moment?'" she asked. "I don't know how to drive a stick shift and you do...I need your help, now just get over yourself!"

I still declined.

"Alright, Miss Pity Party, I am coming over there and you'd better answer the damn door!"

She showed up an hour later with a bottle of champagne and some orange juice.

"We're having mimosas," she declared.

"Now, do I need to kick you ass or to sympathize with you right now? I am just never sure the right approach to take..." she said.

I told her about my existential crisis. About my guilt over traveling, the fight with my Mom, staying here in Uganda, everything...

"OK, you really are having a 'moment,' huh?" she said.

"Tell me five things about yourself that traveling has done to make you a better person...to humanity and to this planet" she instructed.

I hate these exercises, I protested! Please, we don't need to do this now!

"Yes we do, now start!" she barked.

I'm not afraid of many things anymore and I can pretty much talk to anyone; I can see almost any one's perspective since I have likely spent some time in their culture; I am willing to try anything once; I am much more patient with people and circumstances; my heart is much more open to people, animals, and the planet.

"There!" I told her.

She smiled, "Well, now that sucks, doesn't it? You're a real asshole, no?"

I laughed.

"Look, you're upset because you and your Mom had a fight, too, right? OK, so write her an email and apologize even if you don't think you were wrong...and give yourself a little break for having jet-lag and a boyfriend who was just deployed to war...then finish your goddamn Mimosa and come car shopping with me...why is this so complicated?" she said.

Put that way, it really wasn't that complicated at all.

"If you buy the car, can we take a road trip to Kenya? I haven't been to Nairobi in years and it's only a ten hour drive..." I said.

Janice, who willingly let me cajole her into going to the Congo two months ago, held up her glass and said, "Of course! Now let's get the hell out of here."

So we did.