Oh, The Places You’ll Go
by Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look ‘em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

And you may not find any
you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.

It’s opener there
in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And then things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.

OH!
THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!

You’ll be on y our way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so
but, sadly, it’s true
that Bang-ups
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump,
you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles cross weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or the waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That’s not for you!

Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,
once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be as famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t
Because, sometimes they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
’cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go
though the weather be foul.
On you will go
though your enemies prowl.
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl.
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike,
And I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never foget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU’LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So…
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea,
You’re off the Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

I do admit, part of the appeal of making the trek from Tarifa to Gibraltar was a chance to be around English again. My arrival in Spain had been marked by periods of time entertained by various men interspersed with more time spent wandering around not quite knowing what I was doing or where I was going. Granted my trip to Spain was last minute and could have just as soon been a trip to Malta, Ireland, France, or a road trip along the U.K. coastline, or if I had thought out my plans better, I never would have headed west from Egypt, rather I could have spent the time that was originally allocated to Ethiopia on a trip through Jordan and Israel. But Spain was the decision and, perhaps it was partly due to my uncertainty regarding this decision, or disappointment that I had not gone into the Middle East, but today I wanted to hear and speak English. I hate to admit this to anyone, but I’ve wanted my trip to be over ever since I left the peaceful safety of Dahab. Everything else from that moment on has been me wasting time. Maybe that’s what this leg of my trip has taught me, that I’m not really a great world traveler like everyone likes to think I am. Okay, I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I really miss the more adventurous parts of my trip, when I’m alone without distraction, it’s hard not to let the loneliness catch up.

The moment I crossed the border from La Linea, Spain to Gibraltar I knew I entered into a sort of bizzaro world that didn’t quite live up to my needs. Though all the signs were in English, I encountered mostly Spanish, and after a hike halfway up the rock and a disappointing meal inside an English pub, I set myself against the strong winds characteristic to this part of the Mediterranean and towards the border back into Spain. Stopping occasionally across the airport runway that separated the city center from the border crossing, I turned to take a few last photos of the rock to justify my visit.Somehow in my mind I reasoned that if I could capture one majestic shot of Gibraltar, then my day trip here wouldn’t have been a waste. Passing closer to the border, on a whim, I stretched my hand into my right pocket to feel the few British pounds weighing my down and decided I had enough time to take a quick bus tour around the island.

“Would you like a round trip or one way?” Asked the driver as I stepped up to pay. I asked him if the bus went around Gibraltar, but he told me he was only driving to Europa Point and back again.

“That’s fine, I just want to sit and see the area.” He quietly noted the air of sadness in my speech and instinctively showed me the kindness I had been missing all day.

“Have a seat,” he told me as he returned my change, “I’ll let you know when we reach Europa Point.” He smiled at me and at that moment I sunk into a window seat and let my body rest as I took on with thankful eyes, my white knight. An otherwise nondescript British man barely older than myself, his face spelled out gentle kindness. A friend once said to me that I had the air of a small town girl about me and I couldn‘t understand what he meant by that statement until this moment. My driver had an air of humility and grace I’ve only seen before in people who grew up in the encouraging environment of a small town. Regardless of where life took him, he would always have this gentleness about him inherent in his actions. I sat and watched as our bus picked up locals on their way from point A to point B until we snaked our way to the end of the line. “I’ll be parked over there for about ten minutes, have a look around and then I’ll drive you back to the border.”

I thanked him and walked briskly towards Europa Point and, though I had seen the outline of the African coast from my vantage point in Tarifa, it somehow looked even more attractive as I stared across the murky coastline while standing in the shade of the rock as the breezy coolness of sand-less wind blew my hair into a tangled mess and I sniffled from sea salted cold wind.

A small group of German tourists shared the lookout point with me as I stood smelling the air, and after a moment’s hesitation, I decided to have at least one photo to remind me of this moment. Asking an older German gentleman to play my camera man, I turned my back to the rock, faced Morocco and pushed my hair out of my face as the wind blew from behind. I blinked and in an instant I was frozen in time with my eyes closed and my hand up showing itself in mock pose. I didn’t ask for a new photo, it was enough that it was what it was.

I knew an allocation of ten minutes was hardly enough for me to do any real exploring, but finished with viewing my small area of an already small territory, I headed back to the bus and sat with my driver.

“What brought you to Gibraltar,” I asked him.

“I’m from a small town in the U.K. and at some point I wanted to get out and see the world. When I was a student traveling in Spain, I met the woman I would marry, she was offered a job in Gibraltar and I didn’t want to go home, so I followed her here.” I smiled at his story and asked him if he spoke any Spanish. “No, my wife is from Spain so she handles all the Spanish, but my little girl is learning.” At that he smiled with all the pride of a first time father. We chatted a little more and I asked him a few more questions about his life, it never crossed my mind to be surprised how willing strangers are to share their stories with me, and as I ran out of questions to ask he started up the bus to make our way back to where we began. As we started to drive, the group of German tourist motioned for him to stop, but he pointed with a wave of his hand towards the proper bus stop one hundred yards down the road as I sat in silence. We followed the trail shadowed by the rock and picked up a few more tourists and a handful of school children on their way home. Since starting my trip I’ve lost all concept of the importance of days of the week. My activity was based on a whim and not dependent on an arbitrary seven day cycle.

“Are we going to be late? I can’t be late going home, my mum and dad will kill me,” the school girls sitting behind me debated in worry as we were caught in standstill traffic. A few of the tourist wondered out loud in their respective languages what was going on as few ventured to ask the driver. Looking a little flustered, the driver called into central command for an answer.

“An accident….Queen Street is closed…not sure when it will open up again, but soon.” We all overheard the static filled radio reply.

“Should we walk? I think we should get off, I have to go home,” the little girls behind me debated amongst themselves, “okay, I’m going to ask the driver to let us off here.” And so they left the bus along with a handful of other passengers, but without anywhere I had to be, I stayed fixed relieved to have a few more moments of rest before heading back into uncertainty. For my poor white knight, my moment of rest was his moment to stress as the other passengers began to get restless. Within minutes we started to roll forward at a snail’s pace as Queen Street slowly opened herself up for mobility. Not long after, as the bus stopped in front of the border crossing, I walked past the driver and smiled at him.

“Tough day,” I sympathized with him, and still a bit flustered, he apologized for the delay. “It’s not a problem at all, and thank you, I really appreciate the drive.” He had no idea how much.

For my introduction article I couldn’t help but write about something that had been bothering me for years now.  Everytime I’d hear about the book, Eat, Pray, Love, a little bit of me would want to throw up in my mouth.  This coming from a girl who loves to travel, is starting a relationship travel column, and is absolutely in love with literature, there has to be something wrong.  Maybe I should explain, or better, yet, I’ll let my first article explain:

I know this isn’t the best way to introduce myself to an audience of readers, but I really want to complain. It’s no secret that I love to travel. Anytime a friend wants to run away and plan a trip, I’m the first one they reach out to. I’ll dispense advice and talk dreamily of good food, good times, and, well, great flings , so when the novel by Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love started to make the circuit, everyone, even strangers who only knew that I love to travel, would come up to me and exclaim excitedly, “You’ll love this book!” I confess, I love reading. I’m a regular literary dork, so if I’m recommended a good book, I’ll almost always give it a try. Flash forward to the line “I wish Giovanni would kiss me,” the opening line for chapter one of Gilbert’s book, and I couldn’t help but think, “Oh shit, I just got tricked into reading chick lit.” I wanted to give Gilbert a chance, so I continued…until I had to stop. I made myself finish the first chapter, giving her the chance to entice me with beautiful words or at the very least, a reason to care. I thought perhaps she was employing the writing trick of showing a character’s development through a progression in writing style as the character explores, discovers, and grows, so I flipped through the rest of the chapters looking for said progression. Finding none, I put the book down and realized my soul would not be stunted in growth if I never touched that book again. I understand that sometimes it’s fun to read a novel for nothing more than mindless enjoyment, but there was no joy in forcing myself to continue.

 
All was well in my world until Hollywood decided the world needed a movie version of Eat, Pray, Love, and out of the woodwork, my traveler friends started to complain about the book as well. Glad to realize I wasn’t crazy for not falling for such a “cultural phenomenon,” I started to wonder why so many lady travel friends have reacted just as negatively to this book as I have.

 
“She goes through the book talking about how independent she is, how awesome she is for leaving her marriage and traveling alone, but in the end, what does she do? She gets into another relationship and basically gets back into the same situation.”

 
“My biggest complaint is that her novel attempts to hide this antiquated idea of needing to fall in love to be fulfilled in a book that’s promoted as an amazing soul searching journey, so for all us adventure seeking women who think we’re getting to read about an experience that relates to our own desires, we instead get a romance novel. It made me feel cheated.”

Those are just two of the complaints I’ve heard, and, not to put all the blame on Elizabeth Gilbert, it is exactly this stereotype that the mainstream publishing world looks for when publishing female travel literature. To be fair, there are women who travel with the hope to find the hunky foreign man of their dreams, but read through the posts of actual travel blogs written by women and you’ll find just as many women who enjoy, and look for, nothing more than the travel fling. We’ve come to expect a male travel writer to be published for their “dramatic descriptions of otherworldly landscapes and poignant moments,” or even for their “raunchous cross continental exploration of the female form,” but the reality of it is, both sexes travel for the same variety of reasons. Not all women are adverse to taking part in “collecting flags” and sampling fleeting moments, and not all men are forever road warrior bachelors. It’s time we stop perpetuating these myths and really explore what it means to be in a relationship, be on the prowl, or fall for serendipitous joy while traveling. Stick with me, kid. I’m about to take you on the trip of a lifetime.

What better way to start than to post a video entry I created for the United Nations Citizen Ambassador contest.  As most people know, ever since I was a little girl I dreamed of being involved with the United Nations in some capacity.  Even as I learned about the inefficiencies, and as people who have worked closely with the United Nations tried to convince me of their irrelevancy, I’ve still always wanted to believe in the beauty of the ideas it was established on.  So when I saw this contest, I had to enter.  I spent a week teaching myself video editing, and, though I was offered help to create this video, I gained much satisfaction learning from scratch and creating something with the deliberate joy of self creation. 

Even if I do not win, it was a good practice to remind me of why I travel and why I spend my time talking and encouraging people to go after what they believe in.  Without our dreams, no one can create the “impossible”.  In my high school yearbook, my senior year, I quoted Coco Chanel, “Success is often achieved by those who don’t know that failure is inevitable.”  Through the almost decade since that was printed, life has taught me just how true that statement is.