Traveling alone — it’s not for everyone. In fact, I would have to say that it’s not for most. Some, but certainly not most. It’s common to believe that experiences are best when shared. And perhaps that may be true. I can’t really argue there. Throughout the years, I have often been asked why I do so. Of course, there is the easy answer: most I know are settled into lives that (they think) don’t grant them the opportunity to step away for weeks at a time. But, of course, that’s just one answer. And like so many things in life, one simply won’t do. The truth is that there are many; some of which I understand, and some of which I don’t — at least not fully. Naturally, I like the freedom and flexibility to go about my day as I please, without having to consult or compromise. But, more than anything, it’s a way of testing myself.
I’m not really sure when it started, or why. Is all I know is that it’s a part of me — a part I don’t necessarily like. Somewhere along the way, I developed this need to prove to myself that I’m strong (go on, it’s okay to laugh. I would be too if I were you) — not needing of anyone or anything. It’s silly, really. Of course I need people; of course I need things. I know this. I know this. Yet, a little voice inside still tries to fight this logic.
When I look at my relationships, it’s very clear to see that I create a buffer between myself and those around me. I’ve somewhat adopted a “get close, but not too close” mentality, as if it’s going to make things easier in the long run, or myself a little tougher, but that’s just BS. And again, I know that. Yet, I do it anyway. If you know me well, which you probably do if you’re reading this, the most obvious display is the way in which I conduct personal conversations. I ask a lot of questions, typically. I do this because I do have a genuine interest, but it also allows me to control how much I share — how much I emotionally invest.
So, going back to traveling, there is this part of me that wants to test myself. To feel uncomfortable. To feel alone. To have to figure things out on my own — find my way. That wants to force myself to think about things that I often shut out. That, as stupid as it sounds — because yes, it does in fact, sound stupid — is looking to feel uneasy, maybe even a little scared. But, to my disappointment (?), I’ve found that the feeling is rare, and it’s fleeting. And then I’m left to wonder what that says about me. Not to you, but to myself.
This trip, however, is a little different than some of the previous. It has a lot more to do with giving myself a much needed break, hence the beach, the islands, the down-time. When debating between Lebanon and the Philippines, I believe that my parents were thrilled that I chose the latter.
Next time, though… next time.
