Thus was the title of my first ever published piece of travel writing. It was a fiery one, prior to my hitchhike to Morocco, somewhat scathing before I eventually toned it down to make it sound less like a bitter rant and more like a presentable case for debate.
Ever since I penned Parents: the bane of the adventurous? I’ve encountered many more people with similar problems: they feel their parents are suppressing their appetite for travel. For some it’s the obligation to obey their folks that restricts or stops them from travel, which is more substantial perhaps in some cultures than others. For those like me, it’s financial dependence. For an unfortunate few, it’s that akin to an imprisonment.
Though I must agree, as I did in the original article, that this suppression is largely due to overprotection and fear of seeing their children getting hurt, which is only fair enough, there are many more reasons for their disapproval that spring from misconception, strong stances on ‘realism’ and, quite often, selfishness.
Your fears are the fear of others
Ever heard of that old saying? Lounging here in Queenstown, I can remember being here under two years ago with my parents. Just before the family car rolled into the adrenaline capital of New Zealand I mentioned my hoping to do the Nevis bungy: it launched a thousand scaremongering comments that left me sulking for the rest of the ride. I didn’t do it in the end – I was too disheartened, and too scared. We as humans are very easily persuaded into fearing things, some more unrealistically induced to our fear banks by even more unrealistic portrayals by the horror movie industry.
But never mind chainsaw-wielding psychos ‒ many of your childhood fears come from being terrorised by taunts and overprotective gestures. Just as a lie said frequently enough becomes the truth, other people’s fears whispered into your ear becomes one that gives you the cringe. And more than often, parents are the source of the majority of your fears. So if they’re scared of travelling, filthy hostels and bed bugs, unscrupulous junkies and masochistic serial killers, if they’re absolute health-and-safety Nazis, then chances are you’ve been in-some-part infected with their fears.
Well, to parents I shall say this. Let your kids eat mudcake. Bring your children to measles parties. Allow them to get used to little pains so as to prepare them for the bigger ones. This ain’t irresponsible. And one day they’ll thank you.
Stop wasting your money
Thankfully, my parents are quite supportive of my travels, more so financially than mentally. I’m one of the luckier ones: the vast majority of independent travellers have to work their way around the world, often ending up in measly jobs and subsisting on instant noodles. Words simply cannot express my infinite amount of respect for them. A waste of money some parents may say, that the money is far better and more efficiently spent invested in a good education or business investment. Chances are, they haven’t been travelling themselves or haven’t properly travelled.
A quality degree may look good on your CV, it’s an education in the University of Life that would give you a better chance of surviving the world. The encounters, the people you meet and exchange contacts with; there are no better ways of networking within a field of your interest ‒ all whilst meeting like-minded folks and having a great time. And why commit to an investment when you lack the practical experience, that you can gather, implement and consolidate all whilst on the road? Suppose if you’re committed enough a traveller you’d bust a leg working towards your travel cash targets ‒ I know I would as soon as I have the umbilical cord cut.
Welcome to the real life
I remember reading about a young lad whose parents, upon hearing his plans to travel the world, flipped big style. His reason: with his university education at an end it was time for him to enter the so-called real world. Similarly I have conversations with my mother about my future, which I must confess frustrates the hell out of me. All the talk about ‘what job will you get’ and ‘how will you support your family’, every single syllable a code word for ‘time to become a corporate whore’.
More true still when, when me and my peers graduate with a degree in geology, I’m more-or-less expected to have my soul purchased by the oil and mining industry. What is the definition of the ‘real world’ anyway?
It’s been a controversial topic among the travel bloggo-sphere ‒ check out Nomadic Matt’s inspirational post about it. Many travellers have fled ‒ and succeeded ‒ their old sombre 9-till-5 lives and gone on to live out what lies beyond the cubicle. People travel for different reasons. One obvious one is the thrills. I’d like to think that I’m travelling for the sake of understanding the world ‒ beyond textbook education and general ignorance ‒ and seeking a sense of belonging so that potentially one day, when I feel ready, I can settle down and pass on my experiences to the next generation.
This isn’t what I’m told to do ‒ it’s what I want for myself and travelling is a means to work towards that goal. And in terms of ‘running away’, what am I running away from when I’ve never left the world my playground?
One sinner of the deadly seven
Interesting, this one. Speaking to Simon, a fellow traveller I’ve met here in Queenstown, he mentioned how his dad hasn’t spoken to him in two years since he first embarked on a nomadic lifestyle ‒ all in the name of jealousy. I’d like to think that my parents strive to restrict my travelling movements because of overprotection. For a rarer few, like Simon, this is wishful thinking. The opportunity to travel the world is what sometimes the source of contempt; understandably, some may be deemed ungrateful to have sneaked off to enjoy the fun instead of repaying the debt of upbringing.
Parents have different concepts regarding raising children. Some see it as an unconditional sacrifice, whilst others at the other polar end perceive it as one big long-term investment. Also where cultural values dictate strong family obligations and respect for elders, abandoning your folks once you achieve independency is simply unacceptable. My stance on this is a fairly liberal one: although I expect to be given a substantial degree of freedom to travel, sometimes rebelling against my parents’ wishes, it feels nice to travel with the reassurance that I have their seal of approval ‒ for instance, I received an extra dose of confidence when my hitchhiking stint from Auckland to Queenstown got their thumbs-up.
In the meantime, I do aspire to repay my folks sometime in the future.
What is your opinion on parents inhibiting your travels? Are you a parent with wannabe-nomad children? Join the discussion by leaving a comment.
