Journey's Role in Alleviating Mourning
Let's Take a Leap: Embracing Grief through Travel
The first time I celebrated the anniversary of my mother's passing differently, I was nestled in the heart of Bolivia.
In years past, every May 2nd brought a wave of melancholy. I'd wake up, unsure why I felt low, only to remember the date, and be consumed by sorrow. I'd mask my emotions at work, and mull over them at home alone, trying to distance myself with distractions like films, games, or books. It seemed like a never-ending cycle of escape.
But my ex and I harbored dreams of exploration; we yearned to visit far-off lands like Peru, Thailand, and India. Unhappy with our jobs and trapped in a too-small, overpriced flat, we fantasized about running away. Eventually, our dreams became reality.
Fast forward to 2014, and my grief-stricken days transformed. Instead of waking up mournful, I found myself in a Bolivian hostel on this fateful day. The pain wasn't gone, but for the first time, I didn't feel it wrapping me in its cold, tight grip.
I ventured out alone, perhaps the bravest I'd ever been since my mother's passing. Travel was already reshaping me—making me bolder, more confident, more unafraid.
The day culminated in an absurd, exhilarating act: I raced down a fifteen-story building dressed as Batman, the only one on the tour brave enough to take the plunge. This moment, so unlikely for the shy, anxious girl I once was, felt like a watershed.
Looking back, I see the descent as a symbolic awakening. Before my mother's death, I wouldn't have imagined myself as the girl who climbed trees, who tried daring activities like climbing and abseiling at camp. Grief had buried that fearless spirit within me, but travel brought it back to life.
I won't lie—it wasn't an overnight transformation. I still had my days of sadness, my bouts of tears, and my lingering fears. But travel helped me reclaim my independence and inner strength. I became a self-reliant wanderer, encountering beautiful landscapes and exotic adventures that filled my hunger for the unknown.
Just as I ran face-first down that building, I think my mother was with me, urging me to embrace life and live fearlessly. She gave me the gift of life—a body I sometimes curse, a face I cherish, a heart that owns both shyness and spirit. She'd never have wanted me to wallow in sadness; instead, she'd have wanted me to be happy.
Fourteen years on, my grief hasn't vanished entirely, but it's become like an old wound—painful at times, but manageable. I've learned that traveling gives me strength, helping me face my fears and conquer them. It's shown me that life goes on, even after loss, and it's important to keep moving forward.
This post was written more than a year ago, hidden in my drafts until now. I decided to share it as part of my new resolution to write at least one blog post a week. I invite you to share your thoughts; your feedback, as always, is welcome.
Disclaimer: This piece contains some affiliate links. If you book or buy something through these links, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. For more information, please read my privacy policy.
In the heart of Bolivia, a female traveler found unexpected solace and adventure, transforming her grief-stricken days into moments of exhilaration during her travels. Traveling became a means for this individual to reclaim her inner strength, fostering a lifestyle of exploration and fearless encounters, embodying her mother's legacy of embracing life.
