To the people who traveled the world with me
“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
Dear Cousteau,
Where did the year go?
It seems like yesterday was orientation: juggling 70 new names and faces, confusing Paige with Abby and Leah with Juliane, trying to keep the Adams straight. “Who is Darrin?” wasn’t a joke yet. Jeff was still 6'7". Am I saying Signe right? Is it A-ree-stee-a? Hi! I’m Kelly. New Jersey. Writer.
We were a bunch of RY freshmen in Carlos Paz, and the only thing we all shared was a willingness to jump into the unknown. It’s crazy to think about everything that has happened since then.
A few weeks before our riverside welcome, back when you were still email addresses and Trello photos, a good friend of mine said something that has stuck with me all year:
“We — your family and friends — we’re never going to fully understand this experience. You can try to explain it to us, and we want to hear about it, but we’ll never know what it was like. The only people who will get it, all the good and bad, are people you haven’t met yet.”
They say you don’t really know someone until you travel with them. What happens when travel is all you’ve known? When you go from being perfect strangers to moving around the world together?
Answer: you get to know one another very well, very fast.
I’m thrilled our adventure started in South America, the continent that tried to break us but ultimately brought us closer. Where side trips weren’t as accessible, so many of us were in the same place at the same time. Where Remote Year still felt new.
Those may have been my favorite four months of this year. I loved getting to know you amid the chaos and culture of Argentina, Bolivia, Peru. Remember how exciting it was, to know we still had two whole continents left? The energy was … palpable? Palpable is a good word.
And that was only the beginning.
Together we have shared enough once-in-a-lifetime experiences for two hundred people. We trekked to Macchu Picchu, road tripped through Patagonia, stripped on the Bolivian salt flats, conquered Death Road, scaled UK mountains, went skydiving over the Czech countryside, biked through Belgrade’s suburbs and partied in its floating nightclubs, swam alongside nature’s most beautiful beaches.
We toasted to Christmas in Thailand, Thanksgiving in Singapore, everything at Oktoberfest. We hiked the Malaysian jungle, ran marathons in Chiang Mai, watched the sun rise over Angkor Wat. We ate bizarre and delicious street food, met incredible people all over the world, traveled in and on planes, trains, boats, cars, bicycles, tuk-tuks, every mode of transportation.
To say it has been amazing would be an understatement.
But not all experiences are good, and you know that better than anyone.
You know what it’s like to wake up coughing or nauseous in the middle of the night when the air doesn’t have enough oxygen. To feel like your insides are in a blender but you’re still working after midnight because you’re on a deadline. To hear someone at home is sick, or hurt, or going through a rough time but you can’t be there because you’re in Split, Croatia, and flights are expensive. To miss the holidays with your family for the first time.
You know this wasn’t a vacation. You know how frustrating it is to keep reminding people of that. The world has seen a million perfect photos from this year, but you experienced the sleepless nights, confusion, injuries, anxiety, sickness, bug bites, and self-doubt between each of them.
Good and bad, these times have brought us closer.
One of many (many) reasons I joined Remote Year was to be part of a community. I wanted to meet people who “got” why I wanted this without an explanation. People who understand the pull of the unfamiliar. Who want to love what they do. Who crave new and fulfilling experiences, even if they’re uncomfortable — sometimes, especially if they’re uncomfortable.
I got more than I bargained for. I got this enormous and crazy travel family.
Some of us were fast friends. Some of us took a few months to become inseparable. Some relationships grew stronger; others broke apart. People fell in love. People fell out of touch. We laughed and cried and failed and succeeded. We worked until 4AM on weeknights and danced until 4AM on weekends. I know some of your wardrobes as well as I know my own.
Over the past 12 months, you’ve been a growth zone and comfort zone as we shared new places, experiences, fears, problems, joys, goals. It usually takes me forever to open up to people. Those boundaries were shattered by La Paz. I feel more myself in this group than I have in a long time.
Each of you has taught me more than you know. I’ve been inspired by your bravery, your confidence, your insatiable curiosity about the world and its people. You’ve taught me the importance of taking fierce passion and pride in work, in relationships, and in life.
It takes a special kind of person to do this and make it work. You’ve all proven that to me every single day.
So thank you. Thank you for being you. Thank you for your honesty and support; for telling me what I need to hear, when I need to hear it. Thank you for the laughs, the love, the helping hands, the hugs and life advice and, during those dark times, much-needed Pepto and Advil and Immodium.
It breaks my heart to know Remote Year is over. I’m not upset by the end of travel. We all traveled before and we’ll continue to travel. What makes me sad is the end of traveling together. The end of travel days and welcome parties and farewell parties and community lunches and junctions. The end of a life-changing year, one that surpassed my highest expectations.
Can we take a minute to recognize the fact that we just traveled the world together FOR A YEAR? I get goosebumps thinking about it. How lucky are we? How do we go back to normal life after this? What is normal, anyway?
Right now we’re in Vietnam and it’s impossible to imagine not seeing you every day. I’m comforted by the fact that I’ll see you again somewhere in the world. This is the end of Remote Year, but it’s not the end of Cousteau.
So I guess this isn’t goodbye! We’ll call it a see-you-later.
Take care of yourselves, travel safe, and never be a stranger. I love you to pieces and miss you already.
Peace, love and Pancho,
Kelly
