I am so not trendy enough for New York. Especially now that everything I own fits into a suitcase, a carry on rollie bag, a travel backpack and a regular backpack. I mean, unless you consider dressing exactly like my little brother trendy, in which case I’m killing it. Apparently even though we live thousands of miles apart, genetics really plays a part in how well you can cuff a pair of jeans and sport a pair of sneakers.
Genetics are a funny thing- the idiosyncrasies we are often blind to in ourselves we see as faults in our siblings and parents. Traits that seem adorable as a child lose their luster as we get older, and habits we learn from our parents benefit us in the long run, even if they seem like hindrances during our childhood.
I wonder sometimes, if I had been raised by an entirely different family what biological traits would still show up in my personality? Obviously, I would still be borderline child-size with terrible eye sight, but who would I be as a person? Would I still let my mind wander off and forget to pay attention the world around me? Would my daydreams be filled with white picket fences and kids instead of unknown oceans and desert adventures? Who knows, maybe with a different upbringing I would have ended up as a middle school teacher in the midwest, faithfully attending church every weekend with my seven kids.
My dad asked me yesterday if I thought that I got the travel bug from him. The funny thing is, when I was younger, all I wanted was to have a normal family that went on normal vacations and a summer that consisted of soccer and camping instead of flying 18 hours to dress in traditional temple gear to attend a wedding in Bali. The year I spent in Spain in high school was kicked off with me begging a family friend to pick me up from the airport in LA so I didn’t have to go.
(if you’re reading this and going, “WTF IS WRONG WITH THIS SPOILED BRAT” I really don’t hold it against you but honestly, as a kid you really just want to fit in. With the version of nature and nurture that I had, no such luck).
Now, at 27, all of the resistance is hilarious to me. The most exciting thing I can think of is the fact that I honestly can tell you what country I’ll be in a few months from now, or which method of transportation I might be using to reach my next destination. Who knows, maybe I’ll end up settling down in the city of my heritage.. good old Liverpool.
Is the travel bug something that was a non-negotiable genetic dictation from the start or is it something I developed somewhere on a sleeper train from Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok? My parents didn’t grow up traipsing all over the world, and my grandparents, although fairly well travelled, definitely didn’t have the adventurous spirit that I see in my dad and myself. Maybe its not an adventurous spirit at all- its that my dad and I are both stubborn as hell, and the more something seems difficult, unknown or a little scary, the more pigheadedly we charge in that direction.
Ultimately, the people we share genes with will always be some of the ones we both admire the most and judge the most harshly . Recognizing myself in my family is both a source of stress and comfort- and a driving force that keeps me moving towards the person I want to become. So, Dad, even with all of the trouble I give you, thanks for the travel bug, my curious mind, and my annoying habit of saying “what?” even though we all know I heard you the first time.
******Any NYC spots I can’t miss? I’ll be here til June 3!*****