“If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine, It’s lethal.” - Paulo Coelho
I don’t know if I’ve ever had a calm heart or spirit. For as long as I can remember I’ve had a longing for travel and adventure. I’ve lost count of how many planes I’ve been on and how many times I’ve moved in my life. Sometimes 6 different places in the same city in less than 2 years. I need change and I need to keep moving and growing.
This is one of the many things my dad and I had in common. He was my person. He just got me better than anyone else. He understood me, probably because we were so similar. He fed into my dreams and goals. He never told me once that I couldn’t accomplish something. He was always pushing me to think bigger and go farther. He was my biggest fan.
He died last year. Leaving this gaping hole in my heart.
When I was trying to decide where I wanted and needed to travel to next, I knew I needed to choose a place that would not only feed my soul but also heal it.
Morocco has always been one of my top dream destinations to visit and growing up my dad tried and tried again to get me there, to no avail.
I remember going to Gibraltar with my family and my dad pointed me towards Morocco and said, “There it is. Look at it. This is as close as I am able to get you right now.”
He knew that even if he couldn’t take me that I would make it there one day.
It’s hard to believe that in less than 3 weeks I will be there. It’s painful to think that I won’t be able to tell him about it, show him the pictures or share my excitement and joy with him.
My dad always knew that adventure and exploration was ingrained in me. He always knew that routine would never work for me and he always knew what I was capable of, even if I didn’t.