The Road More Traveled
Dear Chewey -
As I hike across Lokrum Island, just off the coast of Dubrovnik, I am at no loss for inspiration. The beauty both here and in Dubrovnik is matched, but not exceeded, by any place I’ve ever been.
Now, as I sit looking out over the Adriatic and the Croatian coast, my tea in hand, sinking into what might be the most comfortable deck chair I’ve ever graced with my ass, I can’t help but think about the question I’ve heard more than any other as I meet the people of the world:
“So… you’re just traveling the world alone?”
It’s asked with incredulity, curiosity, sympathy, and sometimes even a touch of hostility, as though I am wasting precious memories by not sharing them. But the question has led to some of the best conversations I’ve ever had, and probably to friendships I never would have made otherwise.
When I explain my story, I usually mention the three events that set my journey in motion:
The motorcycle accident.
The breakup with my long-term girlfriend.
The graduation and departure of my youngest child.
Together, these things sparked a realization that life is short, and that perhaps waiting for a “traditional retirement” in my sixties might be too late for my now broken body, and my once-broken heart.
But when I dig deeper into why I chose to do all this alone - and the truth is, I’ve never really been alone, having met incredible people everywhere I’ve gone - I think back to Ireland, and the story of the Latoon Fairy Tree….
In 1999, Irish road planners began building a new highway between Newmarket-on-Fergus and Ennis. But right in the middle of their proposed path of the $90 million dollar project stood a lone hawthorn tree, ordinary to most eyes, but sacred to locals. The Irish locals believed it was a fairy tree, a meeting place for the “Wee Folk,” who were the guardians of the land.
To those who knew its legend, the danger in disturbing it wasn’t metaphorical, but actually quite real. The stories went that if the tree were cut down, misfortune would strike swiftly and severely: brakes would fail, cars would crash, machinery would seize, and death itself might come calling. Generations of Irish farmers had long refused to plow near such trees, fearing fairy retribution. Even in the modern age of concrete and steel, that superstition, or perhaps that respect, still ran deep.
So when the government announced plans to remove it, protests erupted. The opposition wasn’t just about heritage or environmental impact, it was about survival. Even the most practical engineers, men and women grounded in blueprints and measurements, hesitated to tempt fate.
So they didn’t. They built the road around it.
To this day, the Latoon Fairy Tree still stands, untouched, as thousands of cars pass by each day. The highway curves gently, almost respectfully, to avoid it, serving as a quiet tribute to the belief that not every obstacle is meant to be conquered. Some are meant to be honored.
That story stayed with me, because in many ways, this journey of mine has been a detour around my own fairy tree. The life I had built - structured, planned, and predictable - was the highway I thought I needed. But those three life-changing events forced me to slow down, to bend the road instead of plowing straight through it.
People often talk about taking the road less traveled, but I’ve come to believe the real wisdom lies in The Road More Traveled - the one that curves around heartbreak, grief, and uncertainty. The one that honors the unseen reasons we’re called to change direction.
And it’s traveling solo that best affords me the ability to see my fairy trees; to recognize when life is quietly asking me to pause, to listen, and to reroute rather than rush ahead.
So as I sit here watching the sunlight dance on the Adriatic, I’m grateful for every detour. Tomorrow I’ll cross into Montenegro, another bend in this ever-unfolding road. I don’t know exactly where it leads, but for once, that feels like the point.
