I'm a mixed bag.
Seven weeks ago, I was scared. A month ago, overwhelmed. Then I was in Tam Coc, enchanted, and in awe at Mount Bromo. Just a few days ago, I felt guilt. A day after, I was frustrated. I rode on the back of a motorbike for forty minutes and for the first half I found myself euphoric, the second half I wanted to cry. And this entire time, I've been concerned.
I've been disappointed too because this has been a promise to myself that I haven't kept. Seven weeks in and I haven't written a word. I'll blame it on my headspace. I'm having trouble reconciling all of these feelings but I'm realizing now this state of flux is perpetual. Maybe if I resign myself to the instability I'll finally adapt.
The truth is, words don't come easily to me like they used to. I think I've lost my voice. I know so because I haven't felt like myself in a while.
So I sent myself across the world. I didn't really have a choice. I'm not expecting to "find myself"—that's too much to ask. This is an escape.
Ultimately, long-term travel is a glorified vacation. That is not lost on me. I know a couple of people who've done it: a cousin, an old coworker. Because of them the idea has always been there, but it wasn't something I knew I wanted for myself. I'm not a seasoned traveler. Compared to those on social media, I'm actually really behind. It was just something to daydream about. And then the moment came where every part of my life aligned for it to happen and I couldn't let the opportunity pass.
I'm in Indonesia now. It's actually nearing the end of my time here.
Yesterday morning I left Nusa Penida, an island off the coast of Bali. A place I was wary to visit because it's getting overrun with visitors and I'm not a fan of crowds. I had taken it off my itinerary. But I extended my stay in Uluwatu, so I wouldn't have had the time I wanted in Lombok, so last minute I decided on Nusa Penida. I did the west coast tour which everyone does. You see three magical sights (four really, the last is forgettable). It was at the third where I was overcome with emotion.
I haven't thought about being alone much these past seven weeks. I've yet to feel lonely. But as I was walking along Broken Beach surrounded by a few dozen people, I thought about how I was going it alone. And how important this trip is for me. And how important it is for me to do it on my own.
Important.
The affirmation was so unexpected but it felt like hands on my body: lifting me, pushing me along the path, reassuring me I was headed in the right direction.
It's funny. I've been battling this constant shift in emotion for seven weeks, and then, a moment of clarity. It took the one place I was planning to skip to make this trip, and me, feel right.