The Heart of an Adventurer | Through the Eyes of a Father

From the very first moment she learned how to walk, she was gone.

Unafraid. Unencumbered. Independent. No encouragement needed.

“Hayli, get back here! You can’t just run off like that!”

She returned a puzzled look of why? Though I could tell she was thinking, I need to see what’s out there!

A daredevil from the get-go, I could never toss her high enough in the air, swing her around fast enough, or enjoy the craziest amusement park rides with her. The last time I did this, we rode the corkscrew ride at Knotts Berry Farm. After it ended, I stumbled down the exit ramp and had to go lie on a bench for three hours while my nausea diminished and my equilibrium returned.

I admit, she inherited this daredevil trait from her reckless father—always testing one’s own ability.

Can I do it? Can I pull this off?
I can get hurt doing this.
Aww, the hell with it. Here I go.
Badly injured: I’ll be okay.

Her mother and I named her Hayli. I told her we named her the same year Halley’s Comet appeared in the sky for its rare once-every-74-to-79-year orbit. In actuality, she was born three years after the stalwart comet came streaking through the night sky.

Hayli had a long leash in her youth, meaning her mom and I recognized her natural instinct to explore her surroundings. She was allowed to experience things some of her friends may not have been allowed to. As a disciplinarian, this was very hard for me to do, but I recognized Hayli’s distinct personality. I told myself I would never stifle her natural curiosity, creativity, or adventurer’s instinct. Once in a while, she would need a little tug on the leash to let her know she was getting too close to the cliff’s edge. I’d think, I know you want to try to rappel down, but you’re not ready for it…yet.

Growing up she was laser-focused on subjects and projects that interested her, but indifferent and impervious to all things she found mundane. It was in her early school years when Hayli’s writing ability began to manifest itself. It came naturally to her. Almost effortlessly, it seemed. I don’t think she realized at the time that it was her strongest creative attribute. She was always drawing, painting, or exploring the arts, but it was writing that flowed the easiest from her.

The adventurer began to blossom in 2013 when Hayli made her first trip to Europe. She barely had enough money and had dodgy living arrangements, but dove headlong into it as is normal for her. Did I mention she went alone? As a parent, that caused so much fear and trepidation in me. Of course, I lectured her (as any good father would do) on the dangers of the biggest mammalian predator of all time—humans.

The European journey had a few minor glitches, but nothing that would deter her from immediately planning another trip somewhere else. Her introduction to the world whetted her appetite and thus began the documenting, cataloging, photographing and, of course, writing about her experiences.

“Papa, I’m taking a 1000-mile journey on a moped through Vietnam by myself!”

WHAT?!!! Why is she doing this to me?!! Is she trying to kill me?!

I would receive updates from Hayli through various forms of social media. I would see the stunningly beautiful photographs she had taken. I would read her writings detailing her amazing experiences, adventures, and misadventures. Her time abroad was fraught-filled (for me), exquisite, and unforgettable. I barely survived her journeys while I remained here at home.

My daughter has visited many more countries since then and I’m sure at some point she’ll write about it extensively. As an amateur history buff, I’m envious of the time she’s taken to visit foreign corners of the world and immerse herself into their cultures.

Hayli often tells me how I should visit this or that place, and how much richer and more worldly her life has become because of her vagabond ways.

I don’t know if she realizes it, but I have experienced these places as well…

Through her eyes.
Through her camera lens.
Through her words.
Through her stories.

Hayli is currently living five thousand miles away from her home state of California with countless detours on her horizon. I get to see her a couple times a year and when I do, she always seems to notice how much more gray is in my hair. I tell her, “Half of them are yours.”

I see the passion Hayli has for the wanderer and adventurer life. She speaks of the incredible bonds and connections she’s made all over the world through the unique wandering-storyteller community. I see how much Hayli has grown and blossomed as a person, and I no longer ask the question, Why is she doing this?

I understand now.
Completely.