Coming here I inadvertently began rubbing elbows with ‘traveler types’ – you know the ones. Those people with smiling pictures and dazzling landscapes and seemingly endless funds, who brag about their trips to Italy or Thailand and how cultured and adventurous they are. I’ve met German and English and Irish and Scottish and French and Spanish people. They all have those quick-dry towels, backpacks big enough for their whole lives and have a slightly sunburnt, manic, wide-eyed look to them. I find watching them in a new place is not unlike a fish returning to water. They have no qualms about starting over, meeting people, jumping in to new jobs and experiences, and being open to new opportunities. Being temporary.
I, however, am not this. I also did not miraculously transform in to one of these people by coming to Australia. I think nothing ruins a good picture more than a selfie. I also don’t want to go through this year worried about likes on my posts and trying to appear happy when I’m not.
What I’ve taken to realize is one of the greatest joys of my day is being alone. I woke up this morning and found an article on the New York Times. I read it all through breakfast at the table surrounded by others. Last week, I found another article about controversial performance art in China. I listen to podcasts. I like time to myself, time to think. There’s immense pressure from living in a hostel. With so many people in one place, I’ve felt inspired to create almost every day I’ve been here. My ideas come in the shower, in bed, on walks, on the tram, and at the gym, after a workout, snacking on trail mix. That’s where my joys are.
So why the crying? I’m missing out not taking the chances I’m seeing. While others jump like fish upstream, my feet remain firmly on the ground. So, how do you jump? Any ideas?