Sometimes, you just need to listen to your gut.

A few years ago, I was working at a big four accounting firm. I kept my head down, crunching numbers into my excel spreadsheets. I knew there was a bigger world out there, but it seemed so distant. I knew my world. And that’s all I needed.

Or so I thought.

Despite having everything I needed, something nagged at me. My reality of a budding career in corporate America was constantly at war with my buried, tucked-away dreams. The ‘what-if’s’ persistently pounded on that wall of possibility and wouldn’t go away.

So I did what any normal person would do: I took a three-month sabbatical from my job and booked a ticket to Cambodia – a faraway, exotic land rich with history and seemingly free of western capitalism. A place that embodied everything other than what my current life held. I wouldn’t realize the important role my subconscious played in my emphatically contrasting decision until much later on.

A few airplane and tuk tuk rides later, I found myself in Siem Reap.

Despite never having done it before, I had arranged a volunteer teaching assignment at a few orphanages there. I mean, how difficult could it be?

Turns out, it wasn’t the teaching that was difficult, but accepting the deplorable living conditions that these children endured. The teaching room doubled as a bedroom – after I left, the desks were simply moved out of the way and dirty mattresses were thrown down on the floor. Spiders the size of my fist covered the walls.

On the very same streets lined with tourist populated bars and restaurants, children with tattered clothes and no shoes somehow survived, left without food for days; scores of children living in garbage dumpsters, unprotected from the risk of human trafficking so widespread in Cambodia. Suddenly, it was like I was violently shaken awake from my slumber of indifference that had previously governed my life.

I taught there, in filthy orphanage rooms, for several weeks, doing anything I could to help those children in so much need; the kids with no one standing in their corner.

Yet, despite the bare living conditions and a lack of anything even remotely comfortable, I watched something incredible, something inconceivable, happen: the children shone with enthusiasm through it all. They lit up when they learned something new; their passion, their excitement, their energy…just in learning English from a foreigner. Well, that’s something you can’t really put a dollar sign on. You can’t even write those feelings into words. That’s something that can melt even the most hardened heart.

That trip, it’s what changed everything.

Travel can be transformative in the most unimaginable ways. You can go to a place not expecting anything at all, and return home with a vision clearer than you’ve ever had. You look at everything differently. You appreciate things more. You never knew your smile could grow that big. You learn that simplicity can be beautiful. Your patience grows and your needs diminish. You experience deep human connections and finally understand life beyond existence.

It’s impossible not to.

So how did this particular story end? Well, the short version includes starting a non-profit to sponsor the kids I taught, which eventually grew into other sponsorships, and the ability to support underprivileged children throughout the world in obtaining a meaningful education. I eventually quit my job and went off, exploring the world, living the life I had always dreamed of. Walking The Camino de Santiago; plucking grapes while volunteering at a vineyard in Tuscany; jumping off cliffs in Croatia and Santorini; floating in the sky on a hot air balloon in Cappadocia; volunteering at a jungle house in Florianopolis; rappelling down a 16 story building in a spiderman costume in La Paz; staying in a convent in Piura, consulting for the very same non-profit and sponsoring local Peruvian children; surfing the Mancora waves; sand boarding down the dunes of Huacachina; exploring the ancient ruins of Machu Picchu…and this story has really only just begun.

That nagging, the one I told you about at the beginning of this story, it happened for a reason. I was meant to travel the world. I was meant to experience the power of global exploration and the change that comes with it. I needed that push to catapult me into the life I’m proud of living right now.

Everyone’s transformation is different. I know this only because I’ve spent the last two years talking to other travelers and learning about their stories. Maybe the catalyst was a corporate restructuring; maybe it was a breakup. Whatever the reason – embrace it. Follow it. You don’t know the effect it might have.

Take that chance.

Live a life you’re proud of.

Live beyond existence.

To begin to talk about this past week’s events, I need to go back.

Back to July 2013 during my trek on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela.

I was walking through the streets of Burgos, Spain when I aimlessly said hello to a nun in the street. After all, I was on a religious pilgrimage and it just seemed like the normal thing to do. She looked at me strangely and asked if she knew me. “No,” I said; “I was just saying hello.”

We began talking and she asked me what I was doing in Burgos. I told her about The Camino and we began a nice little conversation exchange. Somehow we got on the topic of the NGO she worked with and how they were doing great things in Peru. I told her I would be in South America for about six months in 2014, and that if I passed through Peru, I would like to visit with her NGO and see if my charity, Sprouting Scholars, could support them in any way.

Then I exchanged information with Sister Alexandra and said goodbye.

Nearly 8 months passed. True to my word, I came to Peru and she put me in contact with her NGO, called Mision de Esperanza (Mission of Hope). Before arriving in Peru, she sent me ten applications from their most impoverished children and our board agreed to fund the children to the extent we had the funds available.

I came to Piura, a city in northern Peru. When I arrived at the bus station, there were two nuns waiting there for me. Imagine the sight it must have been: me – in my hobo travel clothes and a giant backpack – picked up at the bus station by two nuns.

Mother Silbana was the one I had been in touch with, and the one who I was liaising everything with. She arrived with Mother Fe (Faith), the most adorable 85 year-old nun you could ever imagine. We rode to their school, San Gabriel, where they lived and taught nearly 800 students. The school was beautiful: clean, organized and huge. The students who attended San Gabriel were quite well off.

I was offered my own room, with a bathroom – quite the luxury after so many hostels. After lunch, I went to meet the kids in their neighborhood, Caserio Miraflores. It was a poor community with dirt roads and very little infrastructure…the tin roofs were held down with rocks.

The children were at a library built by Mision de Esperanza. Neighborhood children went there after school to get help with their homework, use the computers, learn to sew, and get medical attention when a volunteering doctor came to town. This facility was fully funded by the NGO.

I personally witnessed the need that exists among these children.

When I arrived, about 20 students welcomed me. I immediately noticed the Latin American influence as they each got up and waited in line to greet me with a kiss. I was given a tour of the facility, which also had a small room with medical supplies.

Once everyone was there, I met five of the children whose applications I had received. They were incredibly shy. It may have been embarrassment or sheer shyness, but I tried to diffuse the situation by talking to them individually. I wanted to know who they were: what was their favorite school subject? What did they like to do for fun? What did they want to be when they grew up? Why did they want to study?

Here’s what I learned about the Piura kids:

• Marilin is a happy, very bright and friendly seven-year-old girl; her parents have four children and unstable jobs, with minimal income. She was the only one of the children who seemed happy. She was also the youngest.
• Edwin is a shy and tiny eleven-year-old boy; his parents have six children and since they don’t have enough space for all of them, one of the children needs to sleep at a neighbor’s house. He looks like he is about eight or nine years old, given his tiny frame (likely due to malnutrition).
• Jesus is a happy-go-lucky- 16-year-old boy with a permanent smile on his face; he was born disabled and cannot walk without a walker, but he has a strong hunger for success and is unconditionally loved by all of his classmates. His teachers told me that every, single day one of the classmates meets him at the door to help him to the classroom. He wants to be a lawyer when he grows up.

• Jordin is an incredibly shy twelve-year-old boy who was abandoned by his parents and left in the care of his grandmother, who has a very low income. He behaves in a way too mature for a twelve year old, because life has dealt him a difficult hand and he’s had to grow up far too fast. Despite being the most serious of the group, he is exceptionally sweet and went out of his way to talk to me every time I saw him.
• Roxi is a quiet twelve-year-old girl who was abandoned by her father; her mother is very poor and receives financial assistance from her aunts. She barely spoke and was almost too timid to even tell me what she liked to do for fun.

After I talked to them, I met their mothers. I spoke to them as a group and told them about Sprouting Scholars and our goal of funding education around the world. They seemed quite grateful.

The next day, I met with the various schools that the children attended to get an idea of how much money they would need to attend school for the year (tuition, books, school materials, uniforms, etc). There were 4 schools on our list. I needed to see them for our own due diligence. Out of the 4 schools, I felt very good about three of them. One seemed to see an American NGO and began listing off exorbitant costs, which could not possibly be necessary, as they were the only outlier. This is the reason it is so important for us to personally visit the schools and to create a strong relationship with the NGOs, schools and other organizations that refer us students.

Two days later, I went up to Tumbes, Peru. This is a border town, hugging the Ecuadorian border. I was meeting the remaining five students requesting sponsorship. I didn’t think it was possible, but these children were in even worse shape than the Piura kids. The stories are heartbreaking.

In Tumbes, I met:

• Belen is a three year old angel, whose father killer her mother on Christmas Day this year, in front of her. Her sister and her are in the care of their aunt, but she has two children of her own and cannot keep up with the bills. This poor child not only needs immediate psychological help, but the long term affect of what she witnessed will leave a mark on her forever.
• Angelina is Belen’s seven-year-old sister, who witnessed the same horrific tragedy. However, at Angelina’s age, it is much more difficult to forget. She has clearly been very affected by the gruesome event. During the entire hour I was with her, she didn’t speak once. Her aunt said she has completely retreated since the death of her mother.
• Elizabeth is a timid ten-year-old with two other siblings, being raised by a single mother who cannot read nor write. Elizabeth appears to have dyslexia and requires private tutoring, but unlike in Piura, there is no place for her to go and her mother can’t afford to pay for it.

• Lina is Elizabeth’s eight-year-old sister. She was the happiest of the three siblings, and kept kissing my arm and thanking me for helping them. It took every fiber in my being not to break down into tears..
• Erwin is Elizabeth and Lina’s six-year-old brother. He was the rambunctious one, running all over the convent like any other little boy in the world. His flip-flops were held together with nails. The saddest part about meeting this family was that when I asked them what they needed for school, the first thing they all said, in unison, was food. FOOD. These kids eat breakfast and then don’t eat again until dinner because their mother can’t afford to send them to school with lunch. No child should EVER have to ask you for food.

The needs of these children are tremendous. Until you witness it, until you experience it, you can’t understand it. You realize just how much you actually have and take for granted.

Just today I received an incredibly inspirational video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fRPbgN9XQ1c&feature=youtu.be) from a good friend of mine. It was about a young man in Asia who helped people everyday without any expectation of receiving anything in return. The video focused on all the great things he did, and then it asked the question: “What did he get in return?”

The answer was “nothing.” No fame. No money. He was anonymous. But then, the video pans into the intangible returns: the emotions. He witnesses happiness. He reaches a deeper level of understanding. He receives what money can’t buy: A world made more beautiful by simple acts of kindness. This time, I couldn’t stop the tears. Because I could actually understand the strength of the emotions you witness (and feel) when you’ve actually touched someone’s heart. I experienced firsthand the appreciation, the hugs, the tears – all from the children and the mothers whose children we were sponsoring. The potential for the lives that can be changed are limitless.

Most of you who know me well know I have a mild obsession with Paolo Coelho’s The Alchemist. I fully believe in personal legends and that everyone who crosses your path does so for a reason. In the book, Paolo talks about “Maktub”, an Arabic word meaning “It is written.” This implies that our stories have been written and we need only to listen to the language of the world to interpret our stories and reach our destiny. I am convinced now, more than ever before, that this part of my story was written for me to meet Sister Alexandra in Spain on that fateful day in July and to begin a chain reaction of events, which ultimately led me here. To link Sprouting Scholars to an inspiring NGO and give ten children something they may not have had before: hope.

Some of you might remember the blog post I wrote about my first experience with discrimination whilst living in South Korea (and if you haven’t read it yet, how dare you!).  To give you a brief highlight, many Koreans did not appreciate my darker skin.  And by “not appreciate” I mean that I was called “ugly” and “dirty” on a daily basis.  Oftentimes, people would get up and move away from me if I sat next to them on the subway.  You might be tempted to think I am exaggerating, however I actually have one of these moments on video, as a small Korean man called my blonde friend beautiful, then looked over at me and gave me the thumbs-down symbol, proceeding to tell me I was ugly and had a big nose.

I understand the cultural norms behind this – if you are darker, it means you work in the fields and are of a lower social class than those lucky enough to work in offices, flaunting white skin – however after month seven of twelve, I was ready to go back to a country where I wasn’t considered hideous.

As luck would have it, Argentina was just that country. From the minute I arrived in Salta, the locals approached me on the street multiple times, telling me I had the most beautiful and ideal skin color. My tan skin was actually considered a good thing! Taxi drivers stared at me in what, oddly, seemed like disbelief, and told me I was beautiful.  They called me a princess.

I went from being a hideous and reprehensible creature to a pretty princess – simply by traveling to another part of the world.

I know what you are thinking: We all need to be happy with ourselves despite external influences.  Yes, yes. We all know this. But it DOES hurt when you are berated with insults… and it DOES help when you are showered with compliments. You start believing what you are conditioned to.

So what lesson did I learn from this? I finally understood what my best friend had always told me: “There’s a sock for every foot.”

Applied, that means don’t worry about being society’s version of perfect or fitting into a mold of what beauty is supposed to be.  Everyone’s idea of beauty is different and someone out there in this big old world is going to find you beautiful. 

Life is about moments.

When I look back at the past 8 months of travel, I think in terms of flashes.

People always ask me about my favorite country or the best memory. But it’s not like that at all. When I think about the best times I’ve had, I see it in flashes of moments. These were the times when my breath was taken away and I got lost in the moment. Really LIVED. Really felt ALIVE.  These were the times when I looked at the world with the wonder of a child.

Like the time in Tuscany when I did yoga with my new Israeli friends, Inna and Serge. We sat atop a soft green hill as the sun was setting, overlooking the vineyard we were lucky enough to call home for a brief
time, soaking in the mountains in the distance and breathing in the fresh air. I remember smelling the grass for the first time since I was a kid, and all the incredible summer memories that came with that smell. Feeling one hundred percent at peace with my surroundings, and appreciating the mind numbing beauty of the Italian countryside.

Or the time I rented a SMART car and drove down the Amalfi coast – absolutely convinced that I had
reached the end of my life while angry Italians honked at me for driving less than fifty miles per hour at the ninety-degree curves. That moment was one of pure exhilaration and sheer terror.

How about the time I (naively) went with Patty into El Chupinaso during the running of the bulls in Pamplona? Sprayed with sangria, beer and whatever other liquids the locals could get their hands on; barely able to breath because of the mobs of people, yet feeling the palpable excitement in the air at being part of of a one-in-a-lifetime event.

Or the time in Split when my new “Croatian family” and I went cliff jumping at a hidden local spot after spending the day on a retro VW beach van, listening to Bob Marley and Jack Johnson, visiting beaches, caves and castles around the city.  Feeling incredible fear and adrenaline at the thought of the cliff jump…armed with nothing but a running start, a leap of faith, and my beautiful friends, Taylor and Avalon, into the cool Croatian waters. Coming up for air, realizing all my limbs were intact…and then going back for seconds.

I also think about the time in Santorini when the very same Taylor and Avalon, plus one Swedish Daniel, hiked our way around Oia – completely outside the tourist area – to a remote cliff known only to the locals. We swam out to a little cliff island with an abandoned monastery built on it, decorated with a big iron bell. We climbed up to the monastery, rang the bell, and jumped into the royal blue Greek waters, while the sun set and the lights of Santorini danced above us. It was more magical than any movie I’ve ever seen. At that moment, I remember thinking: “This is it. THIS is living.”

How about getting lost in the ancient streets of Jerusalem, walking to The Wall and experiencing the surrealness of three colliding worlds: the religious enthusiasts praying intensely, the armed military meandering about with machine guns, and the oblivious tourists with cameras around their necks. The unique colliding of worlds was not lost on me: old world meets new world and being able to experience the contrast of it all – while still managing to fit in a fierce game of foosball with incredible new friends.

I’ll never forget hopping on a hot air balloon in Cappadocia, staring at a minimum of sixty other balloons in the air and mesmerized by the Dali-like landscape of this magical place. Floating on top of the world and watching the sun rise.

Or kayaking in Paraty, Brazil with twelve new friends. I remember it being a Monday, and thinking to myself how much I used to hate Mondays in my former life…then soaking up the majestic mountains and clear water around me, thinking I was in a Jurassic park movie, and realizing I could get used to Mondays like this. Being grateful for being there at that very moment and wondering how on earth I made the right decisions in life to get me there.

I remember sitting alone at a fruit stand in Rio, just after my iPhone and debit card had been stolen, feeling pretty down for the first time in a while. Suddenly, like three little surfer angels, my roommates showed up out of nowhere. They adopted me, not letting me focus on the bad stuff that just happened, and told me to go to Ipanema beach with them while they surfed. It would take my mind off the things I couldn’t control, they said. And they were right. Their positive vibes, smiles and kindness were just what the doctor ordered. Such a simple act of kindness, but such a powerful moment, and one that will forever remain embedded in my mind.

What about moment just before I went inside the waterfalls of Iguazu? The sheer power of water, the feeling of being so small right next to these cascades. Looking up and experiencing this fierce force of nature from a tiny boat and drifting into the Devil’s Throat.

Or riding a horse through an Estancia, led by a real life gaucho, who serenaded us with just his guitar and beautiful voice. For a girl from New York, riding a horse through fields of green grass, lined by stately trees is about as dreamlike as it gets. It’s the stuff you read about in books or watch in movies. It’s not really real life…at least it was never mine.

What about the time I went to the top of the mountains in Mendoza, where all I could see were the white caps of these beautiful peaks, blue skies, and the pulsating colors of the landscape. Plugging in my headphones and letting the moment carry me away; feeling like I could reach up and grab a cloud with my little hand.

But mostly, I remember moments I connected with people. Like the lady on the plane who was an NYU anthropology professor who congratulated me on my bravery of letting it all go and following my heart. A complete stranger who smiled at me so warmly, and genuinely wished me all the best on my journey, because she, too, believed that when you follow your heart, everything else falls into place.

The conversations you have with strangers from around the world would make the United Nations proud. You have 23 year olds asking you about your country’s foreign policies; you learn about the heart of different countries from their people, not from books; you forget that you’re all from different places because when you sit down together to eat a meal, all you care about is exchanging stories and sharing laughs.

The connections you make with people when you travel are paramount. People don’t have the guards up that we have in the ‘real world.’ That protective gear is removed, which makes is possible to have some of the most intense friendships and relationships in the span of a few short days.

So if I’ve learned anything so far, it’s to be present in every single moment. Smile at strangers, talk to anyone and everyone because you never know what you’re going to learn. Let yourself be inspired: by places, by people, by stars. Make your story as surreal and dreamlike as you want, and live life loud. Don’t let your light fade, and always embrace magic. And above all else, always trust that things will work out the way they are supposed to. Because all of these moments, they lead up to the path you’re supposed to be on, and every person you connect with somehow gives you tools or knowledge you’ll need along the way.