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On Traveling

When it was free and easy

By Maija-Liisa EhlingerPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
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I’ve settled into a quasi-routine in my life back at home, filling days with spin classes and Word documents and what probably averages out to five cups of coffee per day. It’s a lovely routine, but it is just that — a routine. And I’ve come to realize that nothing should be routine in your 20s.

And that is why I needed to travel. To feel lost and baffled and yet remarkably confident in my ability to find my own way.

So I board a train in Siena, buying the cheapest ticket to any city north, settling into the second class cabin with pretzel remnants still on most of the seats.

It is beautiful and it is perfect. I’m free and feel liberated and ready to take on any challenge. It’s this sort of traveling that makes me realize just how much there is to love. I love that I’m free to select what my next destination will be. I love that I’m 5,000 miles from home and found a novel in English at the train station. I love that I’m reading a physical book and that I left my Kindle back in the States. I love that for the first time in a long time I’m ‘off the grid’ because I haven’t checked my phone since last evening.

Yet in this moment there is something so visceral, so contradictory, so erratic to my daily life that I can’t possibly love it. I was taught not to love. And that is the fact that I’m alone.

Like many Millennials, I don’t spend a lot of time alone. I fill up my calendar with events and dinners with friends; any free time is spent with others, be it in person or via a messaging app or some combination of the two. I never want to feel alone and I always must feel connected.

The loneliness starts catching up to me now, and I start contemplating why I hate this feeling. I stare at myself in the window reflection, noticing the dark spots under my eyes and the new bout of acne on my chin. I’m alone now, bouncing my knee to keep awake so I don’t miss my transfer stop in Empoli. No matter how beautiful the landscape is, my mind wanders.

And for some unexplained reason, all I can think about is all the things I hate.

I hate that I look like an ‘ugly American’ wearing the same jeans for a week straight. I hate that I’m overly excited about having figured out a two-switch train ride on my own. I hate that it took me so long to figure it out.

I hate that I’m already planning out my Monday work schedule for when I return stateside. I hate that I’m thinking about a boy back home who is surely not thinking about me. I hate that I can't seem to focus on the Tuscany sunset that I’m lucky enough to be seeing right now.

I hate accepting that I couldn’t do this trip without a combination of iPhone searches, Whatsapp messages and multiple city maps downloaded at Internet cafes.

I hate that I feel so old. Mostly I hate that deep down I know I’m too young to actually appreciate all of this.

I hate that I’m alone. I hate that I can’t think of another more complex, more ‘adult’ word to describe this moment.

I hate the feeling that time is winning. Against what? I have no idea. Just that time feels daunting in a way its never felt before.

Yet time does move forward and I reach my final destination. My beautiful — albeit imperfect — travels come to an end and I must face what I told myself I hated. But traveling makes you realize just how imperfect you are, and that is what makes it so necessary. First you hate this reality and then you learn just how lovely it is. To fall in love with your imperfections is to know yourself. Maybe not wholly; maybe not perfectly. But maybe that’s the whole point of traveling. And maybe that’s just the whole point of growing up.

humanity
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About the Creator

Maija-Liisa Ehlinger

Atlanta-based writer and journalist

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