I recently came upon a shoebox full of gorgeous, tender, and reckless photos of my backpacking days back in the 90’s. In one photo, I am riding a motorcycle along a switchback cliff overlooking in the ocean in Greece. I immediately remembered the smell of the exhaust mixed with the Hawaiian Tropics coconut oil I had rubbed onto my shoulders. I still have a scar on my shin where I burned it on the engine because I was wearing my bikini. In the next photo, I was being thrown around the open ocean on an inner tube behind a boat in Greece. Then riding horses bareback on the beach in Mexico. In this photo I am sitting ramrod straight trying to calm my racing heart, because my horse had been rearing and trying to buck me off. Was I wearing pants to protect my legs? Nope, I was once again in my bikini.
The photos made me simultaneously laugh, shudder, and wonder, how in the world did I survive?
Out of all my friends, those who chose adventure and those who chose to stay home, some of us survived, some didn’t.
No matter the danger.
And here I am to tell the tale.
So what would I say if my 17-year-old daughter came to me and said she wanted to buy a Eurail ticket and travel alone for a few months with only a backpack, no phone, no internet.
I’d give her a big hug and say “GO! Write me a postcard once in a while.”
Traveling gave me a box of alchemical wonder I could never have gotten any other way, gifts I want her to have, like dancing with a rainbow silk veil on Mt. Kilimanjaro while hot tears stream down my face because it feels like I’m touching eternity, or floating on my back in a foggy pond while storm clouds race above me like stallions pounding across the sky.
I’m just not one of those people who feels comfortable staying home.
For me, my “comfort zone” is leaping straight into adventure, traveling to places I’ve never heard of, feeling the crackle of the air as I look at the world through new eyes.
But other Moms say, oh no, she can’t do that. What if? What if? What if?
But those questions are quickly brushed aside by me. Be safe of course, be smart, but choose the adventure always.
Is the world really more dangerous for a young girl than if was in the 1400’s? 1600’s? Or even 5,000 B.C.? Every generation has danger.
I turned 18 in 1987, when people were hiding under their desks with the threat of nuclear bombs, the Cold War, terrorists and kidnappers.
My parents worried about me, but I never heard their words of caution. I was too busy looking forward to all the adventures that awaited me, watching stars and sunsets, climbing ancient ruins, walking the same stones where Cleopatra, Aristotle, Mata Hari, and Josephine Baker walked. My Mom would see my video tapes of me dancing with remote tribes in Africa, and she’d say, “Marci, I can’t believe the things you do. I could never ever travel to Africa by myself and dance with tribes off the beaten track. Weren’t you scared?”
“Scared?” I’d answer, perplexed. “Of what?” It never occurred to me to be scared.
She’d say… I’m actually not sure what she said because I wasn’t listening.
Was I a devoted daughter? Yes, but I was also wild, disobedient, and daring. And she may as well have given me the middle name of Danger. Marci Danger Darling… I like it.
I love feeling the adrenaline rush of exploring new places, swimming in uncharted waterfalls, swinging across rivers in the mountains, jumping into exotic oceans with electric blue water.
Do I sometimes worry some strange sea monster is going to raise its head just then and eat me for lunch? Sure, but that just adds to the heart-thumping fun.
I get to choose how I view the world, and I choose to see it as safe and wondrous, also sad and beautiful, and yes, occasionally dangerous, but if I ever feel hesitant to go on the adventure, I ignore the pesky little bespectacled thought-police in my head with their lasso’s, trying to rope me in to staying home and watching movies where other people are having all the fun.
No thank you, thought-police.
I say yes to traveling to far-away lands to see animals I’ve only ever read about in books; yes to cross-country skiing in the middle of the night in Norway with stars more crisp than potato chips; yes to plunging into the open ocean off an island while wild dolphins spin into the air around like mini tornados of joy; yes to galloping along a beach on a wild horse with the wind in my hair and the sea water splashing my bare legs…
I’m 52 now, and though I have no desire to ever ride a motorcycle again, especially while wearing a bikini, I still leap into adventures. On my last visit to Venice, I ended up dancing at midnight under the moonlight around the Piazza San Marco in Venice with my children. Instead of a bikini, I wore a dress glittering with stars. I rode a vintage train through the mountains, slept in medieval castles in kingdoms where I’ve never been before, and came home with more gorgeous, tender, reckless, and ravishing memories to add to my box of treasures.
