Month: August 2011

While I was devouring a piece of sushi with one hand and sipping a glass of Chardonnay with the other, a Puerto Rican tourist approached me at the tapas bar of Karma Restaurant and Lounge.

Tourist: So, I ask everyone I meet out of curiosity — where are you from, and what brings you to the Cayman Islands?

Me: I’m from Canada. I came here on a work permit and I wait tables at a local restaurant.

Tourist: Why did you choose to come here?

Me: The job offer was attractive and unique. And honestly, I needed a change — a new experience.

Tourist: What do you do back home?

Me: I work in the service industry at a ski resort. I’m basically a snowboard bum.

Tourist: Is Cayman your first trip outside of Canada?

Me: No, it’s actually my 15th country.

Tourist: Impressive! Where else have you been?

Me: I’ve road-tripped the American West Coast, drank tequila in Mexico, scuba dived in Panama, surfed in Costa Rica, camped in Hawaii, vacationed in the Dominican Republic, toured France and London, backpacked Thailand and Laos, tramped through India, trekked Nepal, visited the Dalai Lama’s home in Tibet, and holidayed in Sri Lanka. Now I’m here in Cayman for a five-month work holiday.

Tourist: Wow! You’ve been everywhere!

Me: Not even close. I’ve only been to 15 countries. There are about 196 in the world (197 if you count Tibet, which I hold close to my heart). So I still have a long way to go.

Tourist: You’re such a lucky girl.

Me: No, Sir. It’s not luck. I chose this path. Like everyone else, I have hard times and good times. I’m lucky to be healthy and to have amazing people around me, but the rest is just decisions I’ve made. Choices.

Tourist: Your parents must be wealthy if you travel this much.

Me: No. I only have my mom, and she does the best she can. All my travels are the result of my own work. I work in the food and beverage industry — it pays well, offers flexibility, and I can use my skills anywhere in the world. I know I don’t have a pension or financial security, but this is the risk I take to chase my dream of exploring the world. Or maybe just of conquering my own world.

Tourist: You’re right… I’m a technician. I only get two weeks’ vacation a year, so I don’t go far — that’s why I come here. I make good money and I’m saving for retirement. I have a wife and kids I love, a nice house, a car. But that’s it. This is my life. I have small memories, short stories. I live a routine. I work and work so that maybe, when I’m 60, I’ll be able to live my life.

Me: Well, Sir, having a family is a beautiful thing. And owning a home is comforting. Traveling the world is scary, and it’s not for everyone. But sometimes, you need to let go, listen to your heart, and do something crazy. Money shouldn’t be what stops your dreams. Make a bucket list and start checking it off. Live your life now. The future will always be there, but this moment will soon be gone.

There was a pause. He sipped his rum on the rocks, looked up, took a deep breath. Then, as he stood to leave, he said:

Tourist: Well, young lady, thank you for this beautiful conversation. If you’ll excuse me, I have a bucket list to start writing.

When I turned 19 and graduated from college, I left behind a boyfriend and friends, packed a bag, and set off down the unknown roads of life. I wanted new experiences, new friends, new challenges. I was staring at a blank page, ready to fill it with stories and memories. With no one to hold my hand across the streets of my destiny, I did it all on my own — and I’m proud of that. I built a life for myself.

Eight years later, I felt the urge for change again. An escape. When everything looked perfect on the surface, I still needed to leave — to go to a remote island, hoping that somehow everything would be okay.

Yes, it’s hard. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve met kind people and kept myself busy. I work a lot, make good money, spend breaks at the beach. But the long hours we all put in mean there’s little time to plan anything together. Days off never match. What I crave are activities that challenge me, body and mind — adventures, real conversations, something more than the four walls of work or the bottom of a wine glass.

Going out alone as “the new girl” can be overwhelming. It feels like the first day of school, with cliques already formed. I realize how long I lived in my mountain cocoon, safe and comfortable, shielded from contrast or conflict. At home, I could choose who to let in — and I was never alone. I miss that. I miss friends who became family, the hugs, the talks, the years of relationships that turned into gold. Without them, I feel vulnerable. Exposed.

This whole experience is scary, and I haven’t fully adapted yet. Some days I think about going home — to the people who love me, who understand me, who see me for who I am.

But here’s what I know: you can’t run forever. Not from your fears, not from your problems, not from home. Yes, I ran. And no, I don’t regret it. Because being here forces me to stay focused, to stay positive. I needed this. Not just to “have the experience,” but to truly face it, hold it, and make the most of it.

I have an itch I can’t quite scratch. I need to understand it, learn from it. I don’t know how long it will last — but I do know it won’t last forever. Because nothing ever does.