I travel to remind myself that this world is big.
On this trip, and especially now in New York, I have learned more about myself than on any other trip. I think a lot of that has to do with what other people's opinions of my trip are.
It started when people I was meeting started being surprised at me traveling alone not simply because I'm a woman but because of how young I am. Not one person expected me to say that I'm 23. The usual reaction was something along the lines of, "Wow, I thought you were older than that." I got that a lot, actually. Even when I didn't ask for it.
Finally someone asked me why I seem so much older than I am. Even though I had always heard people commenting on my maturity (they must not know me well), I had never thought of why so many people thought that way. At first, my response was that I didn't know why but that I knew working my way through college while pulling off good grades and having two majors had something to do with it. It's probably the one answer I give where I don't mind pretending I'm one of my overly-pretentious ex-boyfriends because it's the truth.
After talking with this person for a few more minutes I realized that my travels probably weighed more heavily on why I am the way I am. When I was 16 my parents put me on a plane destined for Spain where I was to meet and live with a family I had never seen. They ended up being life-long friends and I've been back three times since then...one to live for an extended period, go to university, and sleep in a house just as crazy and carnival-like as my own in the US. When I was 19 I bought a plane to Italy on a whim because I thought it'd be thrilling to see Easter mass at the Vatican with however many other millions of people. I convinced my best friend to fly from Spain to Austria one year and then take the train to Turkey...we even got stranded in Serbia. I've been to so many countries that sometimes I forget one when I'm naming them. I guess this is my life. I don't know the difference.
I'm aware that all of this sounds incredibly snooty and that I come from a very privileged background. I'll even admit that I probably took a lot of this for granted for a long time. While I knew that most people don't live the life I do, I also knew nothing else. I have lived one hundred lifetimes. The majority of the years when you're "learning who you are" have been spent obtaining more entry stamps in my passport that I can't decipher.
So, I think my travels have turned my brain into someone older. I was left standing in a piazza at 10pm in Rome with "Well, you can catch whatever bus you need from here. Bye." I spent the night bundled up in the train station in Belgrade, Serbia, where it is appropriate for every drunk teenager to be as loud as he or she possibly can. I had directions to the home I was staying at written on my forearm in France because my friends were expecting to lose me in their revelry. I took a wrong turn in Istanbul and was led by the arm into a rug store and told to sit down and drink some apple tea from the tiny, ornate tea set. I was pushed into the street in Cuernavaca because I wouldn't go home with a guy I had been dancing with. The person I loved told me he was sick of traveling and left me because I have a self-diagnosed case of terminal wanderlust.
These things don't keep you an innocent person. You grow up pretty quickly when you realize the world is big.
Every time I meet someone new, especially here in New York, I am reminded of how lucky I am to have seen so much of the world. The other day, I was sitting with a group of people in a bar called Cake Shop with a hidden underground concert that I just couldn't fathom was beneath us (and probably annoyed the doorman with my incessant questions) and someone asked how long I had lived in New York. I've been trying to give the short story of "I just moved here from California because I wanted to try something new" but when people start asking questions I can feel myself cringing inside. I don't really want to sound snooty. Privileged. Pretentious. He asked for the longer version of why I was here and then asked where else in the world I have been. When I told him it was his turn to tell me his life in two minutes, he replied, "I don't have anything to say after that. I feel like I've done nothing with my life. You've done everything and I've done nothing."
What would you say to that? How are you supposed to respond? You saved all of your extra money from every meager job you've had just to travel and, boy, you have certainly traveled. That's the life you chose. Maybe it is making you older before your time, beating you up when your back is turned, or getting you "slushied" like on episodes of "Glee" when the teenagers are happily walking down the hallways. Maybe you turn out just like me, leaving the subway station on Sunday evening, making the trudging but careful walk down a few blocks in Brooklyn, passing the creeping men still patrolling the streets like it is their job, and looking like life had just happened to you.
I know I am incredibly lucky to have experienced all of this. If there were a term to use that meant more than "incredibly lucky" then I would certainly use it. I guess I just don't really know what to say to people anymore. My travels, which are my most important personal memories that I'd like to make more of (besides my circus-like family ones, of course), are the most interesting and most deterring part about me. Those of you that know me well would say, "But, Kaitlin, if that turns someone off to you then you don't want that person to be your friend." This is true. But I also don't want people waving me off because of the way I seem. I've had people simply stop talking to me because they thought I wouldn't be interested in what they have to say.
I'm not going to stop traveling. Trust me, I have a long list of places that I need to get to before I'm pulled away to another world.
But what is wrong with this situation?
No comments:
Post a Comment