My mother bought me a globe when I was a little girl.
I stared at it for hours, daydreaming of foreign lands while I traced the outlines of faraway countries and memorized their funny sounding monikers. I must have been the only kid in the first grade who knew where was Svalbard was.
I was born to an multicultural family of nomads and globe trotters. My mother’s father was the definition of a rolling stone (he still drives across the country in his early 70’s) and her mother and stepfather were international chefs who trained and cooked around the world. My father grew up caravanning around Europe, the Middle East, and Africa alongside my hippie grandparents and even attended primary school in South Africa. Traveling is who we are.
That is why I never thought I would see the day when traveling would make me feel guilty.
Continue reading “Why I Feel Guilty When I Travel”