Travel is the meaning of life.

Simon and I expect that we are going to be traveling most of our lives and certainly for the better part of the next several years.

I said this to my mother last night, who apparently thought that "sailing around the world" meant goofing off in a boat along the coast of Europe for a few months before settling down in San Diego. She got mad at me. She said, "You are going to abandon your family to go see a world that doesn't give a shit about you." I laughed, which didn't help.

Penultimately, she has never understood why I want to see all of the world so badly. So let me try to explain. Traveling is aligned with the purpose of my existence. Without it, I wouldn't know why I was alive.

I live on Earth to experience the joys and abundance of the world that God put me on. I'm here to experience. That's it. That's the meaning of life. So, I want to experience the wide and vast array of life, rather than just one small slice of it. I want to absorb the world like a sponge absorbs water. I feel like I would be ungrateful to God for the life I was given if I did anything else.

A year and a half ago, my sister asked me, "Why are you going to Chile?"

My response: "Because it is on the planet." That's the honest answer, in its simplest form.

I may be a success or a failure. I may be brave or irresponsible. I may be searching or content. It's all a matter of perspective. What I am is what I am. But travel is my truth. It gives me the greatest joy and makes me grateful to be alive. I doubt that will ever change as long as I live.