Eyes may speak volumes or they may be dark to the world, but they never lie.

Faith is a word I have generally shied away from. It’s loaded with connotation, mostly religious. As a pee-wee, mum taught me that the Christian church was hypocritical. Her interpretation ultimately boiled down to a rejection of the idea that non-Christians are somehow relegated to an afterlife in hell. This principle of exclusion strikes me as completely unnecessary, so while I have no problem with religion or religious people, I am not one myself.

Then one day last year, after I brashly decided to relocate myself inside Our Nation’s Fine Capital City, my dad said something to me that caught me completely off-guard. My dad, a church-going regular, told me he was amazed by my faith. And I was amazed by his comment.

Me? Faith? It never occurred to me to call it that. But what else makes me think I can just quit my job, pack a suitcase, and fly across the country? Why did I believe that I would find a good job? Dad was right. I have complete faith. Not in God, per se, but in the rightness of the universe. En el fondo, I know everything will work out okay, no matter what. That’s not just a heartwarming cliché. It’s actually true.

And it’s what I love about exploring an unknown country. It’s the fundamental uncertainty of it all. You simply can't know what will happen, whom you will meet, where you will end up, or what you might learn. Every day is an opportunity for new adventure, and without real faith, you will not survive.

It's one thing to have faith in the western world, a place we were raised in, where we know how the system works. It's familiar. It's comfortable. It’s ours.

But as a lone backpacker in the eastern world, faith needs to be more visceral: you jump into the middle of chaos and tell yourself it's going to be okay. And then it is okay. And then you get hairy, your skin turns dark and you develop a special scent that is all you. Then, after a few more months, the look in your eyes begins to change. (This is probably the most startling result of extended backpacking. It is most notable years after the fact, when you've once again become accustomed to the cynical abundance of the west. You’ll happen upon some old picture from a past adventure and stop dead in your tracks. "Is that me?" Then, with a mixture of awe and regret, you realize that the person in the picture is gone. It’s all in the eyes.)

So I just want to say thank you to my dad. He has helped me to see that I am far more than I even realized, because I have the ultimate strength inside: I have faith in the universe, faith in myself, and faith in the value of all experiences, bad or good.

Thanks, Dad. Happy Father’s Day.

LMA