My Journey and My Journal

As I thumb through the brittle, marker-soaked pages of my childhood travel journal, I cannot help from smiling. The journal I named “The Big Book of Travel” when I was 9 years old rests on my knee as I sit cross-legged on my bed, reading the entries from over a decade ago. 

I’m a naturally anxious person and those few precious times when I’m not overcome with such intense emotion are, strangely, when I’m far from home. I find a pleasing sense of security when I’m travelling because there are distractions abound and schedules to be adhered to. I quickly realized that keeping a travel journal was one way that I could capture my best days and relive them once I returned home to the hustle and bustle of my everyday life.

My first documented vacation in the blue spiral notebook decorated with gold moons and stars, is a weekend trip to Washington, D.C., with my mother and some of my childhood friends. Reading through the delicate print handwriting of my childhood, I am reminded of how far I’ve come mentally and emotionally. 

During my toughest days, “The Big Book of Travel” could transport me to my favorite places in the whole world: whether it be the chilly mountains of Pennsylvania or the pink sandy beaches of Bermuda.Though there is something extremely cathartic about reading my journal, I have come to understand that writing is also my solace in hard times.

The time that I adopted the habit of keeping a travel journal intersects with the time in my life that I first began having panic attacks. I was one of the children my teachers lovingly called “a pleasure to teach” and due to this, I’ve always felt the pressure to deliver in a big way. I was always on the Honor Roll, a part of the Student Council for four years, and an active member of my church, all before I left junior high and with these responsibilities came the fear of failure. I learned, however, that there is no failure when you put pen to paper and instead, every piece you write is worth it. 

My trip to Washington, D.C., was the first of many vacations recorded in my journal, but I think my humble beginnings as a writer was solidified with my second documented vacation. This was a cruise to Florida and the Caribbean, thus beginning my fixation with cruising that I have upheld ever since. The significance of this trip, however, being I turned my one-time experience of detailing my travels in my journal into a habit that I’ve carried with me all of these years since.

A few years after my first cruise, I was fortunate enough to have gone on a few more voyages, the third of which was when I celebrated my sixteenth birthday with both sides of my family. Though the four stops I made in the Caribbean during this time were each very spectacular, the most special days were spent at sea when I could roam the ship visiting my family as a whole, and I’ve never felt so blessed or loved. This trip solidified in my head the idea that travel isn’t only liberating for my mind, but fulfilling to my soul, and it was at this time that I decided that I wanted to write about travel for the rest of my life.

I often worry that I in my daily life cannot be as authentic and free as I am when I’m away, but then I remember that both versions are still inherently valid and truly myself. My true essence can be found preserved in my words, particularly in my writing, and I’m fortunate enough to be perfecting my craft now for the future. As I close my journal, I look optimistically towards my future as a writer and I am given renewed strength from my work every time.