Never say never

Tonight, I’m sitting here reading your messages on our posts, on the Sunday live sessions, or on Livemedia.gr videos. Beyond the admiration and the wishes for strength and safe travels, one phrase caught my eye—repeated three or four times by different people:

“Thank you for doing what I’ve always dreamed of but will never do in my life.” Or something along those lines.

Reading something like that, it’s easy to let your ego swell and tell yourself, “Who the hell am I? How do I pull off what so many others can’t? How awesome must I be?”

But honestly, while I want to thank the people who express such kind words about our project and way of life, a phrase like this—which we’ve heard countless times from friends over the years—makes me sad more than it lifts me up. Why?

No, I don’t take it literally. I don’t believe others can’t do what we do or whatever they dream of. It saddens me because some people genuinely believe they can’t make their dreams come true. They believe it without even trying—it’s a small religion in itself. They think they were born and raised just to handle life’s problems, and that, on its own, is heartbreaking. But it’s not true just because you believe it is.

Anyone who’s ever said this to my face probably got a quick reply: “If you want something badly enough, you can do it.” But phrases like that go in one ear, skim the brain without touching a nerve, and fly out the other. They end up discarded in the trash bin of clichéd platitudes, alongside gems like “The universe conspires for you” or “If you dream it, you can do it.”

But I’m not a writer, nor do I have the intellectual clarity or talent to grab someone by the hand with words alone and make them drop everything to travel the world—or chase whatever wild dream has been gnawing at them.

Especially if they’re long-term unemployed, underpaid, fighting cancer, caring for an ailing parent, battling legal trouble, dealing with addiction, or wrestling with psychological scars from death, illness, aging, youth, loneliness, or overcrowded spaces. If life has dealt them a heavy hand.

What does the obsession of someone circling the globe in a four-wheel-drive have to offer a person with real, everyday struggles? Probably nothing. They might see it as luck. Or foolishness. Or maybe—just maybe—there’s still a bit of dream left in them, some reserve of hope that keeps them inspired by escape.

But the admission, “You’re doing something I’ll never do,” still feels like a knot in my throat. Unless we’re talking about all of us becoming astronauts.

I want to deconstruct that idea—not because I find it offensive (it’s flattering, after all) but because it feels demeaning to the person saying it. And that bothers me. For more reasons than one.

First: What if you’ve already made your dream come true, and you just don’t realize it?

What if the simple, everyday things—a lightning-strike romance, a beautiful relationship, a child, a beloved family, an honest job, a warm home, and a true friend—are not lesser dreams than a “world tour”? I don’t think they are. Those small, everyday things are the big dreams of life. Come on, we all know this.

Even the simplest moments—a coffee with a best friend, an ouzo by the sea, a stroll along the shore, a summer swim, a good joke, a gentle touch, a great book, or a sunset over the city—aren’t these dreamlike moments? Do we even realize their value?

Here’s my point: Maybe many of us have already achieved our dreams but fail to appreciate them. Or maybe we’re just starting to, now that a global pandemic has smacked us upside the head. But that’s a discussion for another time—the silver linings of the mess humanity stumbled into.

Second: Let’s say you want something different, something else. Are you sure you know what it is? Are you certain it will make you happy, calm, fulfilled—whatever you seek?

But let’s assume that itch won’t go away. Why don’t you try? Why not risk it and see how it feels? What’s the worst that could happen? Are you just bored? Or did you grow old before your time? Try it. And if it doesn’t suit you, you can always return to your previous normal.

“I can’t, I have my mother in a care home,” someone might say. Okay, I get it. That’s life. But even that has meaning—that too is life.

When she’s gone, when you’re left free and unburdened, will you drop everything and leave? I hope so, if you mean it. But even if you don’t, you’ll need to find another meaning, your own meaning—not someone else’s.

To wrap this up, I won’t dwell on whether Voula, Anastasia, and I face the same problems as everyone else—financial struggles, health issues with loved ones, age, psychology, legal matters, and so on. Rest assured, we do. It’s a given. We just chose this life because it gives us meaning—at least to us two adults, and hopefully to our child.

But I’ll leave you with one question I’d love someone to ask us one day, but no one’s dared to out of politeness: Are we truly happy?

“But you look happy, all three of you,” says the kind lady who watches us daily and sends heart emojis. That’s a big conversation, and we’ll have it. But don’t think we’re happy just because we’re traveling the world or living like nomads. That alone isn’t enough.

If we are happy—and that’s a big if—it’s because we’re healthy (as much as we can be), we feel young, and we have a tightly-knit family with an incredible child. Because we love each other and live in harmony, we might just be happy.

And you don’t need to be in the Arctic or the Sahara to feel that._Akis Temperidis

P.S.: That last part was a pass to all of you. Feel free to express yourselves.