It was only natural that we would, within the first few minutes, try to catch up and clear up as much as possible. It was then that I learned the reason why an ex-colleague had passed away a few years back. She had succumbed to cancer. She was so young. As the saying goes, she went too soon.
They say Death is a great leveler. It happens to everyone regardless of creed or color, status or wealth, or whether you are young or old (er). You never really know when your time will come. But even before it does, perhaps a question to ask is:
"When it is your time, can you cross over without regrets?"
I have always thought about that. Avoiding regret seems to be the key motivator to make the 'right' choices in life. Even then, there really isn't a guarantee that those choices would ever be enough to say you've lived a life free of regret. Still, as a traveler, you are sometimes forced to have that thought at the back of your head. You always have to be prepared for the worst.
Sure, air travel is supposed to be safer than even driving. Yet there are families who consciously choose to travel on separate carriers during family vacays to have a greater chance of lineage survival should one airplane go down. When you read the human stories of disasters like MH370 and AF447, that preparedness suddenly becomes almost all too necessary.
I never get on a plane thinking that someday the NTSB will find my body still strapped to my fully flat seat, in a field somewhere in the middle of Eastern Europe. For those on that ill fated flight, I am sure they didn't think that either. I have had some scares inflight before but they have never been enough to deter me from packing my bags. I take the view that if it is my time, then I might as well go doing what I love:
Travel.
However, there is a flip side to such a great activity. Frequent flyers can lose their sense of foundation since they tend to be everywhere yet nowhere. Relationship building becomes a challenge and everything goes on a punctuated speed mode. So sometimes, people get an approximation of 'you'. But do they really get 'you'?
So I asked myself: Do people really know me, what I stand for, who I love and loved, what I hoped for myself and for others? Will there be nothing of me afterwards that would be a memorial to a life once lived? Do I have a legacy, even if not in living form like children, that can show that I have done enough?
Over lunch today, deep in thought, I had an epiphany.
I looked around my home. And it spoke back to me. From every corner, floor to ceiling, there was a story to be told.
Oprah used to say your home should rise up to meet you. And almost subconsciously, that was how I set mine up. Through many years of exploring this globe, I have been able to place a nugget, a gem of a memory in every open corner.
Each memory is a chapter. Every chapter is set in some wonderful place in the world. The chapters are part of a book. The book tells the story of my life and features characters from around the globe.
The artwork was by a female artist, the only one in the market that day. I believe in female empowerment so supporting her was important to me. I learned a lot about her creative process though talking with her. I was enriched beyond just appreciating a beautiful painting.
I bought the doll when the young shop assistant told me that there were only two design stores in Budapest, and that they were the only point of sales for young up and coming artists (read: struggling art graduates). I always buy from young talent to help give them a chance, especially in non developed economies. I never forget the generosity I received from strangers when I started out, so wherever I can I pay it forward.
I got the plates after I had my life threatened in Istanbul by thugs in the dead of winter. The boy listened to my story, and told me his own story of coming in from the surrounding rural mountainous areas to find a better life in the capital city, only to discover first hand the dangers of living there. We found safety in our human connection. And now I see him in my home every time I see the plates.
I now have more planes than I have space to display them. But when I look at my collection, I realize how lucky I am to have been able to fly these carriers, in some aircrafts that are not even flying anymore today.
These are just some of the stories that reveal facets of my life. But my story involves many many other lives. Altogether though, I realize my home is my living memorial. And when my time comes, one would just need to come by, look around, and see how blessed my life had been.
They may not be able to hear the details of why each of these items found a spot in my apartment, but if they listen real close, they might be able to hear the whispers of different voices and languages, and perhaps even imagine what it might have been like to have been there when these items were still in their home countries.
So they would not need to mourn me with tears. They should celebrate the fact that for the short while I walked this planet, I had the good fortune, through my travels, to walk with many others on their own journeys.
The life of a traveler is a never ending journey full of gratitude not regret.
Crossing over? It is just another journey.
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