I’ll be honest. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
I’d consider my first actual travel experience to be to Mexico in January of 2015. I traveled to the Yucatan Peninsula (begrudgingly, at first – I was all ‘ew, Mexico?’) for a friend’s wedding. I loved it. Not particularly the idea of being at a resort, but the feeling of other: the sounds the birds made, the smell of the air, the sheer sweatiness of being alive outside of a frigid Albertan winter. And snorkeling opened up a whole new world to explore, even if a fish did bite me.
I figured traveling might be something I could try. For so many years it had been a matter of waiting – waiting to have enough money, waiting for one of my friends to have the same time off as me, waiting for someone to want to do the same trip I’d always dreamed of.
Finally, I said screw it. I will do what I can within my means, and I’ll do it alone. A lot of people have said that I’m brave or cool or adventurous. Really, I just don’t have much else going on. Everyone is shacked up and popping out babies, so I might as well go get a friggin cappuccino in Italy, right?
But it’s turning into something I need. Wanderlust – I get it now.
On this recent trip to Costa Rica, I met someone who just fed into that feeling. I can’t even put my finger on what it was. He was laid back, interested in the world, a bit of an introverted loner like me. He pointed out the absurd juxtapositions of his country and it made me look at things in a different way. I want to look at my own city and country with fresh eyes (and the rest of the world, duh).
Time to make more plans.
Sidebar: I’m listening to the sound of my stomach gurgle/signal whales while I write this, thanks to something I brought back from the Caribbean side of Costa Rica. So, like, my original ‘ew Mexico’ thoughts were not entirely unfounded. Just sayin’…