How My Passion for Travel Ended My Relationship

Ahhhh, it’s the day of love! And therefore a perfect excuse to reminisce about a “not-quite-love” story. Admittedly, the title of this blog post is a bit dramatic, but I needed to get your attention. I haven’t been very transparent about my personal love affairs on the blog over the last couple years. That being said, I did want to share this one. For shits and gigs. And because I hope some of my fellow female travelers can relate. 

I was living in New York City, being over-worked in a job I didn’t love, attending every happy hour available to me, and attempting to date like an adult.

For the most part, I was relatively successful. 

At one point I found myself spending a majority of my time with a lovely lad by the name of, let’s say “Fred” for all intents and purposes. Fred was a successful attorney, had recently turned 30, and lived in a beautiful midtown apartment with views of the Empire State Building. 

When I was with Fred, I laughed more than ever before. His witty sense of humor, partnered with his east coast accent, left me in tears regularly. It was fun to be around Fred, and that was enough for me at the time.
I wasn’t looking for anything serious, and made that clear from the beginning. 

Eventually, Fred and I grew into a routine.

He lived only a few blocks from my office, so I found myself spending multiple nights a week at his place. I would pick up chocolate from the closest Duane Reade after work, he would pour us a glass of whiskey, and we would watch “90 Day Fiancé”. In the morning he would leave for work while I got ready. I would leave his key with the doorman before I walked a few blocks to my office. At one point, I even had my own toothbrush that lived at his place. 

I guess you could say things were going pretty well. And they were, for the most part. I was happy. But I’ll never forget the night that Fred and I discussed my passion for traveling the world. 

He commended me on my bravery for constantly throwing myself out of my comfort zone. In the same sentence, however, he mansplained the fact that a lifestyle of travel was irresponsible. “Who doesn’t love to travel though?” he asked. “Of course we all wish we could travel for the rest of our lives. But that’s not realistic. That kind of lifestyle isn’t sustainable in the long term.”

Oh Fred. Things had been going so well. 

Of course I didn’t blame Fred for thinking the way he did. This wasn’t the first time someone put me in an awkward position while unintentionally  questioning my ‘irresponsible’ life decisions. As always, I smiled. Eventually I responded, “Not everyone experiences the same ‘reality’ Fred. After all, there is no correct way to live life”. The attorney in him started to rebut my argument, but I quickly got up to pour us another whiskey and the conversation ended there. 

I don’t believe there was any malice behind Fred’s words. In fact, it very well may have been his subtle way of getting me to share my plans for the future with him. Who knows. 

Needless to say, I eventually ended the relationship with Fred.

Because, unbeknownst to him, my future did include more travel and instability and adventure and risk and everything Fred wasn’t willing to accept. And becuase he could be a dick sometimes. Ain’t nobody got time for that.  

A few months later I quit my job, donated my clothes, and packed up my small New York apartment. This had always been the plan. I only had a week left in New York and I was celebrating at {you guessed it} another happy hour with a couple girlfriends after work one afternoon. 

Suddenly, I received a text message from an unknown number. I had previously destroyed my old phone at the company holiday party {classy Rachel}, so my new one had none of my old contacts. It was Fred asking to see me. 

Since I was only a few blocks from his place, I agreed to meet him at his local corner bar. We ordered a glass of wine, laughed until we cried as per usual, and caught up on the standard happenings in our life. I explained how I was leaving New York, and that my future involved moving overseas once again.

While I expected an eye roll and a few jokes at my expense, what I got completely surprised me.  

“I knew I would never be able to make you happy. You have a wild soul and therefore, a life with me would only hold you back. I’m sorry for what I said in the past. It’s only because I’m not brave enough to do any of it myself. Don’t listen to me, Rach. Do what makes you happy.” 

It was the most validating statement, and something I didn’t realize I needed to hear. We continued drinking wine, talked about an ideal future together that both of us knew would never come to fruition, and I eventually went back to my empty Brooklyn apartment alone.  A few days later I left New York.   

I still think about Fred from time to time. We kept in touch as friends over the next couple of months until I left for South Korea. Luckily for me, I don’t have to wonder about “what might have been”. Because Fred was right. I do have a wild soul. And a conventional life just isn’t in the cards for me at the moment. 

One day I’ll be ready to slow things down and remain in the same city for longer than a year. But I can’t settle on a life simply because it’s responsible, stable, or what most people consider a “reality”.

One day I’ll meet someone with a soul that compliments mine.

A soul that I can still share chocolate, and whiskey, and trashy tv shows with. But that understands the restlessness in my heart and allows me to pursue it unconditionally.

On that note, Happy Valentine’s Day. 

Related: Recollections En Route: Love, or Something Like It