Travel Helped Me Become a Writer – And Fulfilled a Prediction
When I was about eight and living with my parents, grandparents and two siblings in Miami Beach in a two-bedroom bungalow with Cuban tile floors, my father played the horses. I never knew if he would come back from the track smiling or ready to spank me for getting in his way.
I was a shy girl who was comforted by writing stories in imaginary settings. I liked to read about Heidi, Anne of Green Gables, The Five Little Peppers, and Pippi Longstocking — spunky children in faraway places.
Once a year or so if my father won big money at Hialeah race track, he would take us to dinner at an oceanfront hotel. I would sit upright with a napkin under my chin and order little lamb chops, not because I liked them but mostly because of the frilly papers on the ends of the bones, so you could pick them up without getting your hands greasy. And after, there would be a silver bowl with warm water and a lemon slice to splash your fingers in. An altogether satisfying experience.
Sometimes a violinist would come by and flourish his bow and my mother would request La Vie En Rose, and hum along. One time, after I had finished my chocolate pudding, the dessert I favored, a woman with dangling gold earrings sat at our table, held my little upturned palm and whispered: “You will live to be old, and you will travel the world.”
The next day on the monkey bars I considered what the lady had said, swung farther than ever, and made it. How lucky, I thought: I would see Switzerland and other magical places I read about, living for sure beyond … 40!
I am now in my eightieth year, and yes, I have visited over a hundred countries. I soloed to Antarctica, and cruised in Myanmar; safaried in Malawi and Botswana, South Africa, Namibia and Tanzania. I’ve seen the Northern Lights and the Southern Cross, a total eclipse and shooting stars falling around the globe. I’ve flown in a blimp, a balloon, and a glider, and plunged under the Caribbean in a submarine. I’ve experienced wonders beyond seven, and eaten every part of an animal.
The palm reader’s prediction came true, whether by chance or luck or neither. But what I couldn’t know back then was that these experiences have continued happening because I have been able to do what I love most of all: writing about travels and sharing my passion.
Travel gave me a focus. It started with a journal I wrote on my honeymoon, when I traveled to Europe for the first time, for two months. It led me to freelance about travel when my children were growing, and then get serious as a guidebook writer and travel editor when they left for college. I soaked up the world as I wrote. I took gigs in Guatemala and Russia checking hotels for trade publications to later earn assignments for luxury magazines in the Greek Islands and Paris. I worked hard, made little money, but I saw the world.
In midlife, when I got divorced, I started writing more personally about my trips: first in a column for Gannett newspapers, on traveling alone; and then in a book, Solo Traveler, where practical information was interspersed with personal essays. The names of the latest of my eight books say it all: Travel Tales I Couldn’t Put in the Guidebooks and Places I Remember: Tales, Truths, Delights from 100 Countries.
I became a regular contributor at forbes.com in 2014 and since then, every month have produced five travel pieces, many of them essays. I don’t consider them work. I never have, which is why when my friends ask, “How can you still be working?” I don’t quite know what they mean.
This past year, when travel mostly stopped, writing about travel led me to talk with other passionate travelers on a new podcast, Places I Remember with Lea Lane. A full circle. A podcast inspired by my writing; the podcast inspiring more writing.
It takes work, commitment, a willingness to risk, and lots of luck to make a living as a travel writer, and to grow a following and get assignments. Like in most things it helps to have mentors and good timing as well as talent. And as much as I wish it were so, you can’t predict if you can stay the course in this age of influencers and shrinking markets. But if you want it, get in there, find a publication or self-publish. You have to take your chances. You have to try for the rung beyond.
At 80, I remember with love my hopeful eight-year-old self and can tell her that yes indeed, you have lived long enough to see much of the world, a blessing beyond words. And sharing stories about travels has rewarded you with a wonderful life, filled with all the paper-frilled lamb chops you could desire, experiences beyond your dreams, and fascinating international friends to fill the pages of books that you have written about faraway places, for others, like you, to dream about.
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Category: Contemporary Women Writers, How To and Tips
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