My Black is NOT Cracking.

This week, I’m happy to welcome back a very special guest contributor—Jay Washington, a world traveler whose passport currently tells the story of a life lived fully and fearlessly.  His recent adventures span continents and cultures.

After doing a little research and reading the following post, I have concluded that adventure, whether it’s crossing an ocean or simply wandering through a new neighborhood, keeps the mind sharp, the spirit light, and the body in motion. Every new experience invites curiosity, challenges assumptions, and rekindles that sense of wonder we often lose with age.

Vitality isn’t found in a pill or a product. It’s in movement, discovery, and the willingness to say yes to the unfamiliar. In this post, Jay shares how travel and adventure can nourish your health, strengthen your mind, and keep your heart forever young. 

In this inspiring piece, Jay shares how travel has been his ultimate anti-aging secret—keeping both his mind and body vibrant, curious, and alive. How stepping beyond routine and comfort zones can slow the feeling of aging, boost mental clarity, feed your soul and nurture a deeper sense of purpose and joy.

Whether you’re planning your next trip or simply dreaming of one, his words will remind you that adventure and curiosity isn’t just for the young! It’s what keeps us young.

Enjoy!

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For the past three years I’ve been living on the road on a global journey, slow and intentional. Fulltime travel and adventure make me feel more alive than ever before in my life. I set out to live, but somewhere between listening to Gregory Porter at the Umbria Jazz Festival, touring the magnificent ruins of Ankor Wat in Cambodia, to visiting with my friend, Jabel, who I had not seen in more than 50 years in The Gambia, spending long museum days in historically Black immigrant settlements in eastern Canada, watching the sunrise after a 5 day hike to see the morning clouds reveal the ruins of Machu Picchu, and mornings on a quiet ski lift in the Chilean Andes, I noticed something simple while I sit and write this article in my Airbnb apartment in Buenos Aires: I feel younger in my body, sharper in my mind, and lighter in my spirit.

Seated amongst an engaged crowd at a great jazz festival is medicine. The call-and-response, the improvisation, the lift when a band finds the pocket—it shakes loose stress I didn’t know I was carrying. Dancing (even a little) resets my mood, my posture, and my breath. Every festival and local jazz club reminds me of the joy being in a full-body practice.

As an architect, I chase iconic buildings and humble vernacular design with equal interest. Walking cities to see how light hits a façade, how a plaza gathers people, how a market breathes, or noticing days getting longer in spring in the southern hemisphere, while they’re shortening in the States—that’s miles under my feet and a workout for attention. I leave those days mentally alert and physically pleasantly tired.

Standing on the rich soil where my people tilled the earth, lived, and loved centuries before being forcibly taken to America is humbling and makes me more aware of who I am. It amazes me how my people survived to allow me to tread upon that land today and be reunited with my people, my family. Even as I stand at the “Door of No Return” there is a deeper feeling of gratitude rather than harboring negativity in the pain and sorrow of the Middle Passage.  

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From small community run spaces, to major museums, I linger. I read wall labels out loud, discover more detail through further research on my phone, or pick one piece of artifact or artwork to “sit with” for ten minutes. It slows me down and somehow speeds up my thinking. I sleep better after a good museum day.

Built environments that reveal human stories of its inhabitants are priceless. Fortressed walls of brick built by hand, terraces that gradually navigate hillsides, bridges spanning major rivers, metros crisscrossing and connecting vast reaches, public housing murals and corner cafes enlightening dense urban spaces—these places show me how people solved problems. They teach me empathy and make me curious. Curiosity is energizing.

Nature that quiets everything else keeps me present. The stillness of a fresh snowfall, epic hikes in majestic mountain scenery, sighting wild animals, strolling ancient waterfronts, watching the radiance of the sun setting on the sea, and finding the oldest trees in dense jungles excite me. Nature days feel like my body’s reset button. The more green and blue I get, the steadier my mood becomes.

People, culture, and something larger is awe inspiring to me. I don’t particularly chase “must-sees” as much as “must-feel.” Commuters, grocers, neighbors, drummers in the park—being present with people is the heart of my travel. There’s a sacredness to it: we share space, rhythm, laughter. That connection is bigger than me, and it keeps me grounded. I try to add good energy to every space I encounter beginning with an enthusiastic greeting and a thank you in the native tongue—ensuring that they are seen and appreciated—what I call spreading positive vibrations. Eventually this leads to developing personal relationships that remain within reach no matter where I am in the world through a simple text to say I was thinking about you or an extended chat by phone to catch up with one another.

Folding walking or biking first, riding later into my daily routine from home to gym to language or cooking class to market to museum to symphony or a park bench. If a ride is needed, I break it up with short walks. My step count rises without “exercise.”

Keeping novelty purposeful is a tool I use to keep the experience continually new, fresh, and exciting. I pick one new skill or challenge per day like taking the subway without a map, ordering in the local language, learning a new dance, taking a different route to the gym or sketching building details. Novelty keeps me alert.

I choose lodgings by lifestyle, not just price. I look for certain “must haves” like a gym, pool, language school, transit stops, or green tree-lined streets as criteria for selecting a neighborhood for my stays of 3 – 6 months. I map each stay to a circuit of these anchors within 20–30 minutes of my apartment. Joy is scheduled in like it’s a meeting—festival nights, local jam sessions, gallery late hours, bicycle tours—these go on the calendar first. Joy is not a bonus; it’s the glue that holds the routine together.

Eating local and keeping it simple is key to maintaining a healthy diet regimen. Fresh produce markets for fruit and greens and local markets for beans, grains, and fresh fish caught locally is the mainstay of my meals. I eat meat a couple days a week and red meat once a month mostly cooked at home. It’s the only way to insure I know what I am eating without the excess of salt, sugar and fat often thrown in abundantly for taste at restaurants. Restaurant meals are treats, not defaults although it’s easier and most often more affordable than eating out in the US.

Joining people where they already gather in plein air sketch clubs, dance socials, public lectures, yoga classes and neighborhood clean-ups. Built-in community beats hunting for “authenticity.” I show up on time, pay my way, and pitch in. I show up curious, not certain with an open heart and mind.

I move more without thinking about it. Novel routes, new languages, and art days sharpens attention. I remember names better. I make quicker sense of maps and signs. My mind feels more “awake.” I find joy—through music, nature, and people—it has become a reliable habit. I bounce back from stress faster and carry less of it forward. Asking for directions, stumbling through a new phrase, or joining a local group—these small risks stack up into quiet confidence which reads as youthful energy. Connecting with people and leaving places a little better gives each day meaning. That sense of purpose is the best fuel I know.

All of this keeps me adaptable, resourceful, flexible, moving, learning, growing, connecting, contributing and above all else grateful.