By: Carrie Gutenberg
My first travel memory is from my early childhood. I was five years old and on vacation in Hawaii — a little young for a SOLO trip, so my parents insisted on accompanying me.
There are details of the trip that remain fuzzy- a result of being so young, not intoxicated — they wouldn’t let me have a drink. The nerve, right? But one incident in particular has always stayed with me, so deeply-rooted in my memory.
On our way to dinner one night, we embarked on an adventure (wait for it) that required the hotel elevator! As the doors opened, I raced inside getting in the way of the exiting occupants, a universal pet peeve of most well-mannered humans. So when my dad kindly asked me to apologize, I turned around, exuding the utmost amount of confidence I could muster, and blurted out, “No way, Jose.” Now, my Dad’s name isn’t Jose. In fact, it’s Harold, so it was obvious to everyone, but particularly him, that I was being a little punk.
The second I turned around, I received a much-deserved slap on the butt. Nothing to write home about, but enough to make me question just who the hell thought they could do such a thing?
My first guess was my mother, the disciplinarian in our home and the most likely culprit. But when I turned to her for confirmation, she shook her head… it wasn’t her. My eyes then met the gaze of the other young mom in the elevator. Stunned that I would accuse her, she immediately denied involvement. Another no.
At that point, I was 1oo percent sure that it was her husband. There was just no other option. But alas, he too, plead not guilty.
My suspicions then led me to the their young daughter. But there was no way she’d betray the fellow kid-code, right? That theory quickly went out the window.
So who could it be? Was it a ghost? Did I imagine it? As I looked around at the blameless faces staring back at me, my eyes locked with my father’s. I was hit with a disbelief that was no match for his wide, shit-eating grin. He nodded in confirmation, proud of himself for looking past my adorable spirit and finally being bad cop.
It was the only time in my entire life my father disciplined me.
We went on to travel quite a bit, but the memories made during that elevator ride in Hawaii provided me with my biggest life lesson. As I grew older, I came to realize that little spanking was a gift from my Dad:
Show respect. Be accountable. And always do the right thing.
My dad passed away two years ago, sending me on the toughest SOLO trip I’ve ever been on. He was my hero, my best friend, my everything. I’m still heartbroken and a part of me always will be.
Nothing I do can map out this uncharted territory. Each day is different… a new emotion, a new journey. And truthfully, sometimes all I really want to do is shout out, “No way, Jose.”
But my Dad would have none of that.
Whether traveling cross-country or simply down the road of life, I carry his words with me as a sacred reminder to show up no matter what the circumstance. I must continue putting one foot in front of the other — despite life’s unexpected spankings.
Carrie is a writer and entrepreneur born, raised, and living in Los Angeles. She’s traveled quite a bit, but her greatest journeys continue to be what she calls her “daily life lessons.” A lover of life, animals and trees, she attributes much of her storytelling to her passion for humanity and spending quality time in nature. Her other creative endeavors include working on her novel, building her dream catcher business, and photographing for The Love Project.
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SHE ONLY LIVES ONCE or S.O.L.O. is a movement empowering women of all ages to venture off on their own and fall in love with the world around them. This part of the blog hopes to spark curiosity and inspire self-discovery among fellow female travelers by sharing our adventures, mishaps, and most memorable moments. Interested in contributing a short story or photo? Please contact the Trishlist and/or hashtag #trishlist, #solo, or #sheonlylivesonces for a chance to contribute to the blog.