In Transit Introversion
The rickety bus made a hairpin turn down a switchback, giving a breathtaking, unimpeded-by-guardrails glimpse of the valley floor thousands of feet below. A swollen and muddy river raced along, waiting to gobble up any buses that inched too close to the edge. I found myself squeezing my eyes shut tight as the bus rocked close to the sharp drop. A trekking guide I had befriended at dinner the night before looked at me, taking glee in my abject terror discomfort before proudly crowing, “This isn’t China. This isn’t Thailand. This is,” he paused for effect, “Nepal!” I had no witty reply. Instead, I looked over towards his client sitting at the front of the bus, a woman with more foresight than me who was taking generous swigs from a bottle of brandy.
I was crammed into a seat next to a young guy around the same age as me. He didn’t seem to be having a great time either. “Nepal,” I said, as we scooted past a fresh landslide — a reminder that the road beneath us could just as easily crumble and send the bus tumbling.
“I’m starting to think flying would have been a better option,” he quipped.
Normally talking to strangers sets my stress levels on high, but in this situation it was the least of my worries. In fact, talking was a welcome distraction. I learned that he was a grad student in India. We shared hiking stories, discussing the challenges that come with trekking during the monsoon (Leeches! Landslides! Trails turned into waterfalls! More leeches!), and the sights we had seen that had made it all worth it. I got off the bus, gathered my backpack and waved goodbye, happy to have made a friend, but even happier that this leg of the journey was over.
In the past, I wouldn’t have believed I would be going on a solo adventure through the Nepal Himalayas. I wouldn’t have believed I would be having easy conversation with fellow travellers or watching Bollywood movies while practicing Japanese with a Nepali innkeeper. When I got my first passport at the age of 18, I had hoped to use it one or two times before it expired. It turns out I had to have more pages added to make room for more stamps and visas. At the time, placing myself in a situation where I would have to fend for myself, where I wouldn’t know anyone or, worst of all, where I would have to eat at restaurants alone was a terrifying notion.
Before I began to travel, I let my anxiety control my life. I made friends with two awesome people from a different high school during our tenure as grocery store cashiers. They often invited me to hang out with them and their group of friends. I usually refused, or gave a noncommittal “maybe,” although I desperately wanted to join in. The very thought of showing up to someone’s house and presenting myself to be deemed worthy by a group of people I didn’t know — people I presumed to be significantly cooler than I was — sent adrenaline coursing through my veins. On one occasion when I was invited over, I worked up enough courage to drive to one of their houses. They were in the basement watching a new episode of “Lost” and didn’t hear me when I rang the doorbell. Instead of trying again, or even calling them, I turned around and drove home, my heart pounding in my throat. Eventually the invites stopped coming.
I began to stop letting my fear win while working on my master’s degree. Studying in Edinburgh gave me quick and cheap access to the rest of the UK and even Europe. (We won’t discuss the student loans involved.) I paid for a bus ticket to the remote western Scottish Highlands. I nearly chickened out before I reminded myself that the money would go to waste if I didn’t. So off I went, and I surprised myself. I made friends. Traveling alone, you only have yourself to depend on, so I had to approach people to ask questions or to seek advice. When placed in that situation, you do what has to be done without thinking twice.
After that, I began venturing out on my lonesome more and more. When my undergraduate alma mater gave me the chance to move to Japan, I took it and didn’t look back. I put myself out there and built a life for myself in a brand-new country. I wasn’t swimming in a pool of friends, but I had a close-knit group and plenty of swell things to do on the weekends or after work. I was happy.
Traveling solo isn’t a cure, but it has been empowering. My social anxiety has become more manageable, and I’m a more confident person. I still have trouble initiating conversations with new people, and occasionally I need to hide away to give myself some peace. However, I’m not as easily swayed by my irrational anxiety-riddled mind. I’m more inclined to take a risk than let it ruin what could be a long-lasting friendship. Whether I’m going to a meet-up in a new city or flying halfway around the world, I’ve managed to find comfort in my discomfort and it’s made all the difference.
