“Yes, keep me posted.I want to heareverydetail.”She draws out the ‘every’, and I can picture her wagging her eyebrows.
After what happened between Nathan and me last Christmas, I’m sure Mila expects a repeat, but I’ll be happy if we can be in a room together and manage to have a normal conversation.
“In the meantime, why don’t you get on social media?”she suggests.“People have been commenting on your last picture, asking where you are.A few people have even askedmewhere you are.”
“I’ve barely gone online since I arrived in Honeywell,” I say.
“Could be a good distraction.”
We talk for a few more minutes before Mila says she needs to go meet her cab.After we hang up, I take her advice and open the BeSocial app on my phone.Mila wasn’t kidding; I have dozens of notifications.Every On the Go Travels tour manager has a social media account where we post pictures from our trips, talk about specific tours, and give travel tips, along with the occasional personal post.Even though our accounts aren’t ‘officially’ affiliated with On the Go, there are guidelines for what we are and aren’t allowed to post—no promoting other travel companies or doing sponsored posts of any kind, for example.
Those of us with popular accounts get bonuses a few times a year for promoting the company and bringing in new clients.I’d do it even without the extra incentive since I love connecting with fellow and wannabe travellers alike, plus highlighting the places I love, whether it’s an entire city, a restaurant, a landmark, or one of the local specialty tours we take our clients on.
I scroll through my notifications.Among them are comments from strangers, acquaintances, and friends asking where I’ve been, telling me I’m missed, and wondering when I’ll be posting new content.
ciao_bella_1313:Hoped to see you in Rome last week, bella!Missing your pretty face.Hit me up next time you’re in town.
izadora_bakes:Hello Fiona!Thank you so much for this lovely picture of our treacle tart and house blend.Please let me know next time you’re in the bakery—dessert and coffee are on me!
travelling_canadian90:Just heard about your dad’s passing, Fi.So very sorry for your loss.I’m in Toronto until May, so let me know if there’s anything I can do.Sending lots of love.
wandering_girl876:Are you ever going to start that blog, Fiona??We want to hear more of your stories and tips!Booking another On the Go tour soon and I hope to see you!
Tears prickle my eyes as I continue to scan the comments and DMs.It would take too long to reply to each one individually, so I like as many as I can, then answer a few messages from friends, co-workers, and long-time followers.I close the app and scroll through the thousands of pictures on my phone until a favourite jumps out at me: one of Dad and me from the last time we were in Ireland together.I upload it onto BeSocial, and try not to overthink as I write a caption.
My beloved dad, Seamus Murphy, passed away last month after a lengthy illness.
Some of you knew him as a best-selling author, or you might recognize him from magazines, newspapers, journals, social media, or even TV appearances.I’ve been asked countless times over the years what he was like.If he was really as kind as he seemed in interviews and at signings.If his smile and contagious laugh melted my heart the way it did for others.If he was as intelligent, curious, and articulate in person as he appeared on paper.
The answer to all those questions is a resounding yes.He was all those things and so much more.The version of himself he put out to the public was the real him.He didn’t believe in pretenses, and he always stayed true to himself.He was the smartest, funniest, kindest person I’ve ever known, a truly larger-than-life figure.I’m proud he was my dad, and feel blessed to have had his presence in my life for as long as I did, even though it wasn’t nearly long enough.
People often say they wouldn’t be who they are today without a certain person in their lives.For me, that person was my dad.My best friend reminded me recently how Dad always told us we had the rivers of the world running through our veins.I got my wanderlust from him, along with my courage and confidence.He, along with my mum, gave me room to spread my wings, and understood when those wings took me to far-off places.
They also understood when those wings didn’t often bring me back home to them, but they always encouraged me, and were glad to know they’d raised a daughter with a free spirit and a heart that wanted nothing more than to roam free.My dad’s heart will always be with my mum and me, and with those who knew and loved him, but I’d like to think of his spirit roaming free now.
Thank you for your kindness, patience, and understanding as I take some time to be with my family.I’ll share some of my recent travel pictures and stories soon, and it won’t be long before I’m off having adventures again and filling my feed with new content.I hope to see many of you along the way.
Love, Fiona
Likes and comments start flooding in within seconds of hitting Post.I say a silent thank-you to those people, then close the app.Writing that left me teary-eyed and drained, so I don’t think I’m up to reading sympathetic comments or questions, let alone replying to any.
The comment earlier about starting a blog pushes to the forefront of my mind.I’ve always thought it’d be fun to have a blog—a domain I own, unlike social media, which can and does change and disappear—but it’s a big time commitment.Hell, even my dad had a blog section on his author website, where he talked about his writing process, shared news of upcoming books and events, and posted pictures and stories from his travels.
I’ve also toyed with the idea of following in my dad’s footsteps and writing a book.While the idea of non-fiction appeals to me on a certain level, it’s fiction that’s always had my heart, especially romance.I could write a book or a series set in my favourite places, with real-life stories woven into fictional tales of love, self-discovery, friendship, and adventure.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the legacy Dad left.The lasting impact, both through his work as an author, and who he was as a person.Knowing he’ll live on through everyone who loved him, plus all his past, present, and future readers and fans, is comforting.To think I could do something similar that creates a lasting impact is both daunting and exhilarating.
My somewhat chaotic train of thought veers toward Dad’s journals.The day Mum gave them to me, I carefully laid them all out on my bedroom floor and sorted them: journals in one pile, writing notebooks in another.Then I sorted the journals by date; Dad had written the start and end dates of his entries on the front page, so it was easy to do.When I’d settled down to read the first one, which started the day he left Ireland as a teen, I only got a few pages in before I started worrying my tears would blot the ink and I’d ruin the books.I haven’t picked one up since.
It’s a given that reading them will make the ache of missing him even greater.But what if they make me even more stir crazy than I already am?What if I discover Dad had regrets about leaving his nomadic lifestyle to settle down in Honeywell?He never expressed that, and he never seemed anything other than content in his life here with us, but…
“You’re projecting,” I whisper to myself as I stare at the stacks of journals on my desk.Dad was happy.He loved travelling, but he loved Mum and me more.And it’s not like he never left Honeywell.He still travelled often, both to Ireland and other places, sometimes purely for fun, and other times for work.The roots he put down here weren’t buried so deep he couldn’t still return to that life of adventure for a few weeks here and there when it called to him.
Sometimes I wonder if a life like that would be enough for me.If I’d ever be content to stay in one place.If I’d be able to settle down, either on my own or with someone else, or if a life of adventure will always call to me.
Dad would tell me I could have both.In fact, if I close my eyes, I can almost feel his presence and hear his lilting voice:“You can have it both ways, Fiona Mae.You can have it all.”
I jump up from my bed and pace around the room.It’s late, nearly eleven o’clock.I should be exhausted after a long day, but my body is buzzing, and these racing thoughts would only keep me awake if I attempted to go to bed now.
