Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
had wanted to fulfill. I would drive across the world on a yellow motorbike with no money
for food, gas, or lodging. I would rely on the kindness of others, and would give some of
those others a gift to fulfill their own dreams. And sure, yes, I did all that, but what I didn't
realize is that I was giving myself the biggest gift of all. Because though Willy and Tony
and Finesse and Tchale and Nasuh and Dilip and Angie might have all received something
from my journey, what
I
received was the ability to pay attention to
their
journeys, to con-
nect to
their
lives. It was like that Salman Rushdie quote, “To understand just one life, you
must swallow the world.”
I got back on my bike and began my ride through the majestic beauty of northern Wash-
ington. There are moments in your life when suddenly it feels like you can look back and
see how every dot was connected—how one moment led to the next, how this person led
you to that experience, or how that experience led you to this person. As I drove through
the mountains, I could see that fabric of time linking me back to one of those early mentors
who taught me how to believe.
Mr. Martin was a football coach at my high school, and I was an avid football player in
my early days. The game was an escape from my problems at home and at school. I would
get lost in the match . . . even if I only knew how to play one position.
I had always been a goalkeeper. Now for those of you who don't know, when the time
is right, the goalkeeper can be a critical position, but for most of the game, you just stand
there and wait. And wait. And wait some more. I would watch as my brother played striker,
darting across the field, scoring goals and basking in the afterglow of praise and recogni-
tion.
I had always wanted to be a striker, like my successful older brother, but “middle-
child syndrome” had kept me from risking failure. And then one day something inside me
snapped, and I raised my hand. I asked to play striker. I wanted to be the one to score the
goals . . . and I thought I would finally get my glory.
It didn't quite work out that way.
I was awful. And I never played striker again.
Three years later, I switched schools and met Mr. Martin. Mr. Martin was a football
coach not because he was paid to be one, but because he loved it. He loved the game. He
knew that sports could bring out the best in us. He was a London taxi driver by profession,
and I imagine he met people of all walks of life in his work. Maybe that's what made him
so compassionate. He had gotten to know so many people, he knew without ever saying
much that each life has its potential—and needs someone to nurture it.
