So a few months ago my brother let it slip that he was planning on quitting his job as a Carnival Cruises sales associate to take six months and travel the world.
My mother, being a mother, was not happy.
My father, being a father, was cautiously cautious.
I was friggin’ thrilled.
My brother’s name is David. He’s two years older than I am, and lives in South Florida. We’re not overly close, though he’s been a terrific uncle to my kids and I feel like our relationship has improved with age.
Anyhow, he worked at Carnival for more than a decade, is smart with his money and wanted to see the world. To which I say—Hells yeah! Life goes by fast. Really fast. Yesterday we were kids, sitting in front of the TV watching Silver Spoons and eating Vanilla Wafers. Today we’re in our 40s, and heading quickly to our 50s. Then 60s. Then … glub. So why not go for it?
This is a long way of saying that: A. I’m incredibly proud of David; B. He’s writing a daily travel blog that I’m absolutely loving. It’s short and quick and has the bite of his humor. Some of the stuff is riveting (“This morning in bed I was sort of rethinking the intelligence of the pub crawl, as my head was pounding and every negative thought came pounding into my mind. BTW, I still have the bracelet on from last night-the leader said it is good for tonight’s crawl too—if my headache goes away I may check it out.”), some cringe worthy (“I met my three roomates—all college age girls from Ottawa, Canada. I told them my girlfriend lived in Montreal—but informed them that to ignore that, they we’re allowed to attack me in the night if they wanted to. They really didn’t laugh. Maybe sexual humor is taboo is a hostile.”)—but all is honest and pure and in the moment.
In other words, I living through my older brother. And digging it.