Iceland Journals: Counting Contributions
Day 6 (5/11)
I’d come to Iceland with the express intention of being on my own, with only my thoughts and the occasional audiobook for company, but after spending the last few days traveling with others, solo travel seemed an even greater challenge than I’d imagined when I left home. In the two hour return trip to Vik, I began to readjust to the solitude of the empty road. There were no other cars in sight for miles and save for the pitter-patter of rain slapping against the windshield and the narration of Option B I’d begun the night before, no sounds to break the quiet peace. Settling into the long drive ahead of me, I listened intently to Sheryl Sandberg’s compelling and heart-wrenching account of her husband’s passing and her subsequent journey in navigating grief. Sandberg writes, among other things, of taking time to recognize her contributions each day in the way that some recognize things for which they are thankful. She posits that gratitude, while valuable, is passive in that it positions us to be thankful for that which we receive, whereas counting our contributions and noting our strengths is an active means of building confidence and resilience. And of resilience, she writes, “I thought resilience was the capacity to endure pain, so I asked Adam how I could figure out how much I had. He explained that our amount of resilience isn’t fixed, so I should be asking instead how I could become resilient. Resilience is the strength and speed of our response to adversity — and we can build it. It isn’t about having a backbone. It’s about strengthening the muscles around our backbone.” What a powerful way to frame the human response to crisis. As I let these words sink in, I thought about my own capacity for resilience and how, for all the unexpected circumstances that had arisen on this trip, I was far more resilient today than I was years ago in San Francisco. In all the times I’d recalled losing my belongings in San Francisco, I’d never once felt as much gratitude as I now did for having endured that trial and been forced to flex my resilience muscles. I learned through that experience that very little is unrecoverable or so important that we should spend days worried sick at their expense, and any setbacks can also be an opportunity to build resilience, if we choose to see it this way.
I didn’t know then how important it would be to hold on to this simple truth and my heart can’t help but ache for the version of myself that would encounter yet another setback upon returning to Vik. By the time I arrived in the early afternoon, it was still pouring heavily outside and since the credit card wasn’t scheduled to arrive until late afternoon, I spent most of the day indoors, reading and journaling — not exactly the most thrilling of adventures abroad, but it felt right to break from a constant state of doing to reflect. Around 4 pm, I went to check on the card’s arrival, looking forward to securing my ticket out of Vik. At the hostel, I was met with the crushing news that the card would not arrive until the following Monday. As it turns out, the post closes on weekends, meaning I would be stalled for two more days. I could feel the frustration welling in my eyes as I mustered what strength I had and returned to the car, where I could barely hold back tears. Thoughts whirring and stomach turning, I don’t remember finding my way back to the rest stop, but I do remember thinking to myself, where else would I spend my time but in this rest stop, where I’d spent more hours and days than I cared to count? Having spent the entire day alone with the sole hope of being able to move from Vik and continue my trip, I was devastated.
I hadn’t told anyone from home of the events that had transgressed in the last few days, insistent on handling it myself and not worrying others needlessly, and, in all honesty, too prideful to reveal how off-course the trip had become. But now I felt compelled to reach out to loved ones, if only to be reminded by people who believed in me more than I did that I would be alright. I left a message for Christina, a seasoned traveler herself and the one who had dropped me off at the bus station to catch my flight to Iceland at the beginning of my trip. When she returned the message with a call, I could only stave off an onslaught of tears until she asked if I was okay. Feeling both embarrassed and ridiculous, I told her through sniffles that I was and I wasn’t. What I didn’t want to admit was that for all the positive I’d tried to find in the situation, in that moment, I felt crushingly hopeless. We stayed on the phone for twenty minutes, with her telling me not just that I was going to be alright, but that it was alright for me to not feel alright or thankful or positive. I told her of some of the adventures I’d already been on and the people I’d met, and slowly, I began to feel better, or at least capable of moving forward. Before hanging up, Tina said that she would check in with me the next day and that I could reach out to her if I needed support. The knowledge that I could call home for support brought me more solace than I’d known I needed. You might understand what it feels like to know on a conceptual level that you are loved and that you can call on the support of loved ones, but to know this theoretically is not the same as having someone actually answer the reluctant and vulnerable call for help. Tina, thank you for answering the call and reminding me that I never have to do it all alone.
If I had to pinpoint the lowest low of the trip, I would have to say that it was this day. I was weary and lonely, and I wanted to run home more than ever. I longed to return to the arms of loved ones who know me well, to my plush and warm bed, to the familiar routine of my life in Indy. This was, of course, not an option, at least not one that I’d have allowed myself to take. Even in the moments of angry tears frustration and unsettling loneliness, I didn’t want to be the kind of person who ran from challenge. That night, as I tucked in, I took a moment to acknowledge my own strength in coming to Iceland at all and subsequently managing the stresses of solo travel as a whole and losing my wallet in particular. While I hadn’t completed any Herculean task by simply managing in the face of a crisis, I also hadn’t run to the comfort of home, as I’d thought to do in the panic. I’d felt cowardly even having entertained the thought until a traveler I met later in my journey pointed out with compassion that someone else very well might have acted on that thought and refused to continue, citing an acquaintance who’d actually booked a flight home after encountering similar circumstances. I was incredibly thankful that I hadn’t made such a decision, which I knew even then would have caused me regret later on, but I also took the time then to recognize my resilience in choosing to move forward when all I wanted was to run backwards. We always have the power to choose, even when everything feels out of our control and we feel we have no choice in the circumstances or trials which come into our lives. The choice is to see the opportunities for growth and resilience alongside the realities of loss. Weeks after the trip now, I think about all the beautiful things which came as a result of losing the wallet — the strength to call for support and the grace of an answer, adventures and detours which both took my breath away and breathed life into me, and countless instances of compassion and generosity by strangers and loved ones. What I knew on some level that night in the car and what I know for sure now, as I sit at my desk in Indy, is that the most trying parts of our journey can be the most beautifully defining if we only allow them to be.
These self-proclaimed Iceland Journals are a collection of journal entries written during my two-week solo trip to Iceland, one for each day of the adventure. In brief, I booked a spontaneous solo trip to Iceland, decided to rent a car to drive around and live out of for two weeks, packed a single backpack to carry with me, and you’ll have to read on to see how the rest of the the adventure plays out! This Medium series, kept in close form to the original entries written during my trip, portrays the day-by-day lived experience and my personal takeaways from stepping out of my comfort zone, the lessons I learn as a result of what my parents would call somewhat questionable decision-making, and the people I met along the way. I hope you’ll get something from reading these sometimes indulgent, often spur-of-the-moment reflections, and this series inspires you to seek out discomfort in every facet of life, build community wherever you are and whomever you’re with, and fulfill the truest expression of yourself in everything you do.
To follow the rest of the journey:
Day 1: Choosing Courage
Day 2: From Strangers to Friends
Day 3: Highs and Lows
Day 4: Rebuilding Routine
Day 5: Glaciers, Gratitude & Goodbyes
Thanks for reading!