It’s the day after Christmas, and I’m sitting in the living room in my Mom’s house in Connecticut. It’s still dark, but the first bits of light are starting to fill the sky. I’ve been home for 5 days now but still haven’t been able to get my body back on schedule. I’ve been getting up before 5 a.m., going to sleep earlier than my mom, and being generally lethargic and lazy since I’ve been home. There’s plenty of stuff I should be doing, but I’m not. I’ve sort of come to expect this period of being down after a trip, it’s normal. Eventually my motivation will come back, it’s just inconvenient to come back to a thousand things that have piled up to do—mail to sort through, overdue bills to pay, etc. etc.

I’m trying to digest all the experiences I’ve had, to make sense out of the seemingly random stream of consciousness that has been this year. I have to say, it’s been quite a year. I rang in the New Year in Steamboat Springs, Colorado where I had an absolute fairy-tale lifestyle. Every morning I would wake up in the slope-side condo my brother and I rented and go skiing for a few hours, flying through the champagne powder, getting lost in the endless glades of pine and aspen trees, and having more fun than I would have ever thought possible. I spent my afternoons working at a preschool with wonderful children, families, and co-workers in an environment which, after the most difficult year of my life the year prior, filled me with joy and hope on a daily basis. Evenings would be spent hanging out with my girlfriend Sofia (the girl I visited in Santiago, Chile), or my brother or friends, sometimes having a beer in our hot tub, or going to the hot springs, or out to dinner. On weekends I worked as a ski instructor which was tiring but also a lot of fun, and allowed me to ski free not only at Steamboat but also at many other incredible mountains in Colorado. I left Steamboat in May, and after 2 weeks of grueling but fun training, spent the next 2 months in Ecuador (South America), where I led a Spanish immersion program for American high school students, getting paid to travel and do what I love. I got to help lead a multi-day backpacking trip along the Inca trail through the Andes Mountains, experience the extraordinary Amazon rainforest, help build houses for needy families, and last but not least, make a difference in the lives of young people not too much younger than myself. (It was doing 2 SCUBA diving trips with Broadreach, the company I was working for in Ecuador, when I was in high school that sparked my sense of adventure and love of travel, helping me gain self confidence and lose tons of weight after weighing almost 250 pounds at one point. It was truly a dream come true to be able to go back and work for Broadreach, and I only hope I could make even modest changes in the lives of my students). The reward for all my hard work in Colorado and Ecuador (as much fun as I had, it truly was very hard work, most of the time working 7 days a week long hours) was this trip for the last 4 months.

Nonetheless, as many experiences as I’ve had, as much fun as it’s been, it’s also made my life more difficult in a way, more complicated. The more you experience in life, the more choices and options you have. I have met and observed an enormous variety of people and lifestyles this year. I now realize, more than ever, that I have the power, the luxury, but also the responsibility, of deciding what to do with my life, something very few people in the world have, relatively speaking. Of course, everyone has control over their destiny to some extent, but few have as many options as I do. While most of my friends from college were sitting working in an office somewhere, I was considering extending my time in Thailand to spend a few months getting my Divemaster SCUBA certification, but decided to go back to my life in Colorado instead.

I remember sitting on the subway as I was coming into London from Heathrow airport, exhausted from the 24 hour trip from Thailand. Looking around I noticed a young guy about my age, and started comparing my life to his. While I was dressed in the same old raggy jeans and T-shirts I’d been hauling around for months, he was well dressed in trendy, probably expensive clothes. While I was lugging around a heavy backpack and bags, fatigued and travel-hardened, disoriented in a new place I’d never been to, he was clearly relaxed and in a perfectly familiar environment, probably heading back home after a pleasant night out. And of course one of the things that also brought my attention to him was the beautiful girl sitting next to him, equally fashionable looking, resting her head on his shoulder. Seeing the happy looking couple, I couldn’t help but think—should I abandon my lifestyle of adventure and uncertainty? Should I move to a city and use my college degree to find a high-paying office job, buy nice clothes and nice things, not having to worry about every single dollar I spend? Wouldn’t it be nice to have clean clothes to wear every day, not having to worry about whether that shirt had passed the threshold from acceptably grimy to disgustingly filthy? Wouldn’t it be nice to have the comfort of a daily routine, not having to plan each and every day? As much as I enjoy meeting new people traveling, wouldn’t it be better to have a fixed group of friends rather than trying to find new company in each new place? Should I settle down and try to find a relationship, quite a difficult prospect when you’re never in the same place for more than a few days at a time. Ironically, less than 2 weeks before, while I was hanging out in my hammock on Koh Phan Ngan, Thailand, I had been offered a great job working in Raleigh, North Carolina for Broadreach, the company I had worked with in Ecuador last summer, helping to plan and organize trips for teenagers in different places all around the world. The money wouldn’t have been great, but it certainly would have been better than what I’ve been making. Nonetheless, as cool as the job had sounded, I decided against the idea of working in an office and turned them down. Still, I was flattered to hear that the door was open if I changed my mind. I’m almost 2 years out of college. I graduated Phi Betta Kappa with 2 majors and 2 minors from one of the most challenging, prestigious schools in the U.S. While most of my friends have careers and are making many times as much money as I am, I’ve hardly set foot in an office since I was an intern at a non-profit law firm my senior year at Hopkins. Should I not reconsider this opportunity, moving on to gain experience, build a career, start building a firmer life with less uncertainty and more comforts???

NAW!

I’m 23 years old. My college education isn’t going anywhere. Every path has its pros and cons, sacrifices and benefits. WHAT’S THE RUSH???

Well, that’s what I tell myself anyway, and I believe it for the most part. Still, I have my moments of doubt from time to time, such as that experience on the London subway.

Actually, the biggest argument I have in favor of leaving my current lifestyle is that while I’m doing everything to see the world, I’m doing nothing to change it. One of the times in my life I was most depressed was when I studied a semester in Argentina my junior year of college. Every day I was there I was faced with the injustices of the country, the juxtaposition of opulent wealth with extreme poverty I encountered in Latin America (Of course, such injustices are always more evident and noticable in other societies than your own). I certainly had a lot of fun as well, and in hindsight it was a life-changing period of my life, but it was quite difficult while I was going through it.

Nonetheless, after a while I became more accustomed to these injustices. At first it was difficult for me to spend money in places where there were people begging on the street (although it’s questionable whether that feeling is rational—spending money in the U.S. instead would not make these people any less poor, if anything spending money in poor countries helps by putting money into the local economy) But, as my other blog entries make evident, on this trip I haven’t hesitated to spend money, taking advantage of favorable exchange rates to do things I couldn’t afford to do back home such as diving with sharks, bungee jumping, and not working for 4 months straight. While seeing poverty still affects me, the impact isn’t as strong as it once was, and it got to the point where people begging on the streets in Nepal would just annoy me, and I would do my best to ignore them. While going to see Les Miserables in London, I couldn’t help but notice the irony of a play which, in portraying poverty and despair, is at the same time a luxurious treat for the well-off, as far removed from real poverty as you could possibly get. I fear that this paradox was endemic throughout my entire trip.

I remember a guy I met my first day in Nepal, as I was wandering aimlessly around Kathmandu. I ended up in what can only be described as a slum (I know not the safest place to be, but I’d read that street crime was low in Kathmandu, and it was the middle of the day and there were plenty of people around, so I decided to risk it). As I was walking along a river lined with piles of garbage on both sides, past 2 pigs wallowing in their own filth while rummaging through the trash for food, a young man yelled to me from across the street, motioning for me to come over. He was sitting out in front of his house with a group of people. Against my better judgment I went to see what he wanted, expecting a clever (or not so clever) ploy to try to extract money from me. To my surprise, despite my suspicion he started a conversation and we spoke for at least 10-15 minutes, without him ever asking me for money once the entire time. He was older than I was, though not too much older, and he spoke with an eagerness and curiosity which immediately inspired trust. He asked question after question: where I was from? How was life in America? I could tell that he was genuinely interested, that he really wanted to know. He told me about his life, how he and his friends were unemployed, trying to find work to feed their families. He told me that his mother was ill, yet he did not have enough money to take care of her. He told me, in imperfect but surprisingly good English (I have no idea how a man in his position learned to speak English so well) that he was tired from years of fighting and violence, frustrated by the corrupt government on one side, who made promise after promise yet never delivered, and on the other side by the Maoist rebels who supposedly fought in the name of the poor, yet made impossible demands of support from these very same poor, threatening those who failed to support them, and in the end not making life easier for anyone. After a while, he asked me in his strong accent if I was an optimist or a pessimist. He didn’t pronounce it correctly at first, and needed to repeat it a few times before I understood what he was asking me. I didn’t know how to respond. “I’m an optimist”, I exclaimed. “I try to make the best of any situation.” “Not me”, my friend replied, gesturing to his squalid surroundings, “I’m a pessimist.” His voice didn’t have a touch of resentment or envy, but rather a sort of stoic fatalism. I couldn’t think of any way to respond that didn’t sound completely pathetic. Don’t worry, things will get better! How do I know whether they’ll get better or not, maybe they’ll get worse. Look on the bright side, don’t dwell on the bad! Easy to say, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to switch places with him. So I didn’t really say anything. When I left, my friend gave me a warm goodbye, and invited me to come back and visit him anytime. The next day I left and started my trek through the Himalaya, and thought about more pleasant things.

Still, I shouldn’t beat myself up about it. One lesson my Dad has always instilled in me is that happiness is a virtue, not something to be ashamed of. I have not caused the world’s problems, and can point to lots of people whose lives I have improved. Everybody has opportunities in life, some just have more than others. I should be proud, not ashamed, that I have worked hard and taken advantage of my opportunities. I suppose, but that logic didn’t make me feel any less uncomfortable at times.

I can’t help but resent a different guy I met in Nepal, while bungee jumping. As we were loading into the van he gave some coins and a piece of chocolate to a small girl. He made sure that his girlfriend saw the gift. Before long the bus was surrounded by children begging, and the guy was soon out of coins and out of chocolate. “What a great guy I am”, he must have thought to himself, as we pulled away down the dirt road, away from the poverty and back to our hotels. Did he really do anything to improve the lives of these children, or had he just appeased his conscience so that he wouldn’t have to feel guilty?

Enough stories. I can safely say that I’ve yet to discover the meaning of life (I didn’t set out to do that, but I think I was secretly hoping I’d figure it out on the way). But I do think I’ve made progress, changed in ways that will not be immediately evident. It may be my imagination, but I think traveling to extraordinary places has given me a greater appreciation of the mundane beauty in the everyday world. I’ve grown more patient, less anxious and apprehensive (although, again, that’s not to say I no longer feel anxious or apprehensive). Old clichés, like the one about how life is a journey, not a destination, have more meaning. I’ve realized that, as much as I like making friends and being with people, it’s ok to be alone sometimes. I’m not quite as afraid of loneliness as I used to be, although that’s not to say I don’t feel crushing loneliness at times as well. I think, I hope, I’ve also observed and learned more about the universality of human emotions and sentiments. Fear and ignorance are present everywhere, but a more powerful force still is love.

I suppose I’ll keep searching.