What I'm Still Wandering

A Story from the Wandering & Wooing Series

Written by Joni Roberts

Traveler, storyteller, and public health advocate

When I first imagined writing this series, I thought it would be about dating.

About the funny things men say.

About awkward encounters.

About pickup lines that deserved awards for creativity.

I certainly didn't expect to spend this much time thinking about patriarchy, courtship, boundaries, projection, marriage, culture, and the stories we tell ourselves about love.

And yet...

Here we are.

Over the past year, I've wandered through villages and cities.

Conference rooms and classrooms.

Markets and museums.

Hotels and airports.

I've met people whose names I no longer remember.

And people I'll never forget.

Some stayed in my life.

Most became stories.

Every one of them became data.

When I think back over the last year, I don't immediately remember monuments.

Or restaurants.

Or hotels.

I remember conversations.

I remember laughter.

I remember the man in Kenya who told me my neck must be tired from carrying the weight of all the men pursuing me.

I remember another insisting I was one of the angels the Bible talks about.

I remember the married men.

The wives I never met.

The student who thought she might be kidnapped because someone said he wanted to

marry her.

I remember sitting with these moments long after everyone else had moved on.

Not because I couldn't let them go.

Because I wasn't finished learning from them.

Travel has taught me that people are endlessly more complicated than the stories we

tell about them.

So are cultures.

So are relationships.

The older I get, the less interested I become in declaring who is right and who is wrong.

I'm much more interested in asking,

"What makes this make sense to you?"

That question has opened more doors than certainty ever has.

Some people have asked me what my favorite country is.

I never know how to answer.

Because countries don't exist independently of the people I met there.

Kenya is Wycliffe.

Malawi is conversations about maternal health.

Sierra Leone is resilience.

Senegal is hospitality.

Every place is intertwined with people.

And every person has complicated the story I thought I was going to tell.

If there's one thing I've learned from wandering, it's that certainty is often overrated.

Curiosity has served me much better.

Curiosity has helped me become a better traveler.

A better teacher.

A better researcher.

I hope...

A better human.

Curiosity has taught me to pause before deciding.

To ask another question.

To wonder whose voice is missing.

To notice what keeps repeating.

To pay attention to the stories that don't fit my expectations.

When I was dating my ex-husband, I'd tell him I was still collecting data.

At the time, I thought it was just an odd thing I said.

Now I realize it has become the way I move through the world.

Collect the data.

Then analyze.

And even then...

Hold your conclusions lightly.

Because tomorrow may bring another conversation that changes everything.

People often ask me why I travel so much.

They expect me to talk about adventure.

Or food.

Or beautiful landscapes.

And yes...

Those things are wonderful.

But they're not why I keep wandering.

I wander because travel refuses to let me become intellectually lazy.

Every country interrupts something I thought I knew.

Every culture reminds me that my normal is not universal.

Every conversation exposes another assumption I didn't know I was carrying.

Travel humbles me.

And I have come to believe humility is one of the greatest gifts education can offer us.

I also think wandering has changed the way I love.

Not just romantically.

Generally.

I'm slower now.

Slower to judge.

Slower to idealize.

Slower to dismiss.

Slower to assume.

I'm quicker to ask questions.

Quicker to listen.

Quicker to laugh.

Especially at myself.

Because let's be honest...

Some of these stories are hilarious.

Who else gets told they're one of the angels from Hebrews before discovering the man has a wife and two children?

Only me.

Apparently.

There was a time when I thought travel would teach me about the world.

It has.

But not in the way I expected.

It has mostly taught me about myself.

It has shown me where I'm rigid.

Where I'm open.

Where I'm brave.

Where I'm afraid.

Where my assumptions live.

And where they're quietly falling apart.

Maybe that's what wandering really is.

Not movement across geography.

Movement within ourselves.

The willingness to let new experiences reshape old beliefs.

To leave room for contradiction.

To resist easy answers.

To become someone who can hold complexity without rushing to resolve it.

That feels less like tourism.

And more like transformation.

So where does that leave me?

Still single.

Still traveling.

Still laughing.

Still saying no to married men.

Still asking too many questions.

Still believing that curiosity is one of the greatest expressions of love.

Not because curiosity always leads us somewhere comfortable.

But because it keeps us honest.

What I'm Still Wandering...

How many stories have I misunderstood because I only heard one side?

What assumptions am I carrying into the next country without realizing it?

How can I continue honoring my own boundaries while remaining open to people whose lives look nothing like mine?

What does it mean to truly know another person?

Can we ever separate someone from what they represent to us?

And perhaps the question I hope never to stop asking...

What else is there to learn?

Because I have a feeling this series isn't really ending.

It's simply the end of this chapter.

Tomorrow there will be another flight.

Another conversation.

Another stranger.

Another question.

Another opportunity to wander.

And if the past year has taught me anything, it's this:

The world is far too interesting to stop paying attention.

So I'll keep wandering.

One country.

One conversation.

One question at a time.