Getting Her Kicks Former Reporter Quits Her Job, Sells Her Car And Winds Up Earning A Black Belt On A Trek Across Asia

I kicked her left temple. She recoiled, but regained her footing while I bounced and poised to pounce again.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a flurrying arm, heard Korean commands I did not understand. But I deciphered their meaning: The referee had called the match.

We bowed to the judges, then to one another. And smiled. We both had passed our black belt tests in tae kwon do in front of more than 10,000 spectators and fighters at Kookiwon, a chilly pavilion in downtown Seoul.

Gasping, we hugged and left the center ring hand in hand, amidst the roaring applause of on-lookers.

What a sight! Two female strangers - an ebony-haired Korean and a blond American - embracing after attempting to clobber one another.

It beat staring at a dusty newspaper computer tube back in Tampa, Fla.

A year ago, I quit my safe, good-enough-paying job as a business reporter, sold my car and gave the bulk of my wardrobe to the Salvation Army. I threw out security for a backpacking adventure and the excitement of roads that, for me, were still untraveled.

Before I left, I tried not to dream of what might happen. But I never would have imagined fighting in the center ring in Seoul.

Was it worth it? You bet.

In the space of a year, I’ve been awarded a black belt, but rewarded with much more: The eight-year-old, pig-tailed twins who taught me origami. The dozens of restaurant owners who were pleased and surprised that I devoured the spicy kimch’i (pickled vegetables, garlic and chili). The countless people who have taken my hand and brought me where I needed to go when I have been lost.

The merry grandparents on a ferry ride between the craggy rock islands off the southern tip of the peninsula, who shared their dried squid and soju (potato vodka), then sang and danced with my friends and me.

The traditional medicine workers who applied acupuncture to me at Tap’gol Park, affectionately nicknamed “old man’s park” (where the healing is offered for free on Sunday afternoons).

The computer wiz-kid friend-of-an-acquaintance who took home this very laptop I’m writing on. He stayed up all night and fixed it - for the cost of a coffee.

They have all made it worth it. Has it been easy? Not always.

I have had to fight for nearly every salary and benefit in my English teacher’s contract. Every day, children and adults stare and often point and laugh at the big-nosed foreigner. For the past year I’ve had a nagging cough, no doubt due to the visible pollution.

I’m not too fond of the stench of garlic and vomit, a usual sidewalk sight on weekend - and often weekday - mornings.

Nor do I particularly relish the scent of bondigi (roasted silkworm). Can’t say I enjoy the taste of that one either.

But I don’t mind. It’s like origami: every fold has an equal and opposite fold. The good and the bad.

So to say I just quit my job and left the States a year ago is a bit of a Cliff Notes dismissal. In many ways, working up the nerve to throw it all away and wander was a 10-year process. Each time I traveled, I thought: This is what you should be doing. All the time.

Some onlookers assumed I made my exit in cavalier fashion. Not quite. Remember, I was a business reporter. I invested most of my money before leaving, figuring Social Security may not be available for me.

I also made a plan, if an ambiguous one. Go to Asia and work for a year. Make some money, and use the remaining savings to travel for as long as the pennies line my pockets. Then work again.

I’m about to take off on that travel part: Look out Beijing. From China, I will return to Nepal, a spiritual country whose mountains seem to have captured my soul.

How long will I stay in Nepal?

I don’t know.

I try to live each day to its fullest, an old maxim but a hard goal to fulfill. If I die tomorrow, I will die smiling, knowing I have lived in pursuit of my dreams.

Of course, I have been able to chase the wild horses in my mind because I’m lucky. My friends back home are prolific writers who keep me tuned in on the latest gossip. My parents keep in touch, too, wrapping their protective arms around me in spirit, even when they don’t understand what motivates my peripatetic ways. Such support keeps me buoyed on my ongoing voyage.

So now for the question you may be too polite to ask: What am I running from?

Nothing. Heartbreak and disappointments, just like love and happiness, know no boundaries. I’m not fleeing. I’m exploring.

And I’m not alone. On the road, I have met travelers 17 to 70, plagued and pleased by their wanderlust. Like me, their ears perk at the sound of a new and different place. Their minds are spirited carpets floating on winds that carry them to far-off places. For the price of just listening to their stories, they will take you there, too.

Many nights here, I have sat on the banks of the Han River with a South African who has traveled arguably more than me; the river becomes the Thames, the Nile, even the Newark Bay as we transform it through our tales. I’ve laid back on mountain tops with Canadian friends who have sounded the haunting call of the loon and regaled me with stories of their vast North America that I’ve yet to explore. I’ve thrown back pints and watched rugby and football … er, soccer … with British boys who have arrogantly attempted to convince me I know nothing about real sports.

Traveling hasn’t made me want to go home - rather the reverse. The list of places I want to visit seems to multiply with rabbit-like rapidity.

Is it for everyone?

Probably not. Crowded as the road is, it’s also lonely at times. But then, it can be lonely on Main Street, U.S.A.

There’s another reason, though. I have no husband or children, no mortgage or car payments. No responsibilities to keep me tied to the States. I travel because I can. Not everyone can.

Right or wrong, I have abundant confidence that makes me believe I can certainly find a job, if and when I ever return to the Land of Opportunity. My friends at home will have the sedans and the white picket fences. It won’t be hard to spot me. I’ll have the worn Birkenstocks and a teal sleeping bag.

Oh, and a black belt.