Travel Book
Live Your Life Newsletter - August 2005
Travel & Hostel Newsletter for Backpackers
Newsletters: August 2005 | All Archives
Catalyst For Adventure: The True Story of Best Friends Travelling Through Europe
This is an exciting new feature of the “Live Your Life Newsletter”! Every month we will be featuring an extract of a fantastic new book entitled, “Catalyst for Adventure: The true story of best friends travelling through Europe” by Crystal Stanczak.
At first glance, the looped thread in a cubicle is often mistaken for gray. However, when one spends endless hours staring at the ergonomically correct cage, it becomes evident that someone in China loomed highlights of purple and red in with the gray. This may have been a corporate decision, based on millions of dollars worth of studies that indicate, "Workers who see bits of color throughout the day are more productive." My company was truly benefiting from those bits of color on the wall of my cubicle. I was one of the most productive hamsters running the wheel for the corporate agenda.
For five years of college and graduate school, Professors spouted at me speeches that began with, "When you are in the ‘real world’ . . ." and "Things won’t be the same outside of college, because . . ." Like a fawn I innocently heeded their advice, fearing this "real world", hoping, somehow, to conquer it. It wasn’t until I was knee-deep in paper shredding, next to a sterile-smelling copy machine, that I realized--professors are full of crap. These slightly pudgy, balding men with halitosis talked a hard game, but logically, I deduced in the copy room, they had no authority to speak about the real world. In all probability, they had been professional students for ten years, and then spent the rest of their lives trying to break into the college scene once again, this time on the other side of the podium. Betrayal filled my soul. If ever I were a college professor I would have the guts to tell students the truth:
"There is no such thing as the ‘real world’. Life outside of college is the same, only you work more and can finally afford an oil change."
All of the work and wonder produced by my college career had driven me into the heart of a boring job where I spent my days helping ungrateful burnouts with their financial accounts. My life revolved around precious weekends, that were mostly spent helping my best friend, Summer, plan her upcoming wedding.
The dresses were ordered. Princess-cut with spaghetti straps and wine shimmer. Summer was to be married in four months and she had chosen these gowns to match her cream colored number. As maid of honor, I had the responsibility of checking sizes for the other girls and helping to host various, pre-matrimony events.
Summer and Sam had been college sweethearts. They met at a small school in a small town, and fell in love over homemade meals in her small apartment. Like most couples, Summer and Sam had their kinks. In fact, they were involved in two relationship-counseling groups. As Summer’s roommate I often I had the pleasure of learning the right "trigger words" to make my non-existent mate feel understood. (Such knowledge, I was sure, would be useful if I ever found someone that didn’t bore me to death.)
The more counseling Summer and Sam attended, the more evident their mismatch became, so, it was as a relieved shock one night that Summer opened our apartment door in tears.
"It’s over," she sobbed, "I broke up with Sam."
This was not the first time they had broken up.
"It is really over?" I questioned.
She nodded with an assurance as stable as concrete. And it was. Halfway into the planning of a large wedding, Summer had the courage to call it off.
Loosing your first love is like Taco Bell. It is one of those half spoon- half fork utensils grating at your completely exposed heart with the vigor of a fat kid trying to reach the bottom of his refried beans. It is closing your eyes with open arms to embrace a sweet future only to be smacked down by a Mac truck. Given the option, I would rather be hit by the truck.
In times like that, one can only try and survive. Summer, like anyone who has been in love, had become an amputee overnight. Sure, she could walk, but a piece inside of her was gone and it would never grow back. As her friend, I would not try to feed her the generic speech that says, "There are other fish in the sea," or "I guess it just wasn’t meant to be." I knew full well that the breakup had altered her life forever.
My uncle was a quadriplegic. After his accident, he could not move his limbs. They shrank in atrophy until he merely had twigs in a wheelchair. He did, however, adapt. He began using his teeth to paint. In my youth, I often admired his careful brush strokes that caused a vase to glow on canvas. More so, I admired the Vietnam soldier who, despite having to drink through a long straw, became the best painter that I knew. Like my uncle, Summer would adapt. She would live on without part of her heart and even find new talents, gifts and strengths. This was the time to discover what the world could offer. She was picking up the pieces of a would-be life, and I was dying to leave the shackles of my life that was. In one evening, the road toward a husband, new car, house and family acquired a fork. Something else was out there. We both anxiously listed the possibilities; not fully realizing that heartache is the best catalyst for adventure.
Order this book: You can order this book at Amazon.com
Read any other good travel books? Send your recommendations to submissions@st-christophers.co.uk
Newsletters: August 2005 | All Archives
